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MONUMENTAL DESIGN FOR A MONUMENT TO GOVERNOR WINTHROP. See Page 457. 









































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































A 

TREASURY OF 



AND 


CYCLOPEDIA OP HISTORY, SCIENCE, AND ART 


CONTAINING 


A GREAT AMOUNT OF INTERESTING AND USEFUL INFORMATION —ASTRON¬ 
OMY, TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND, DISCOVERY OF AMERICA, EARLY 
SETTLEMENTS OF THE COUNTRY, BIOGRAPHIES OF EMINENT MEN, 
INCIDENTS OF TRAVEL, DISCOVERIES IN SCIENCE, CURIOSITIES 
OF ART, AND A CHOICE SELECTION OF MISCELLANIES, ETC. 


EDITED BY ROBERT SEARS. 

ti 


ILLUSTRATED WITH NUMEROUS ENGRAVINGS. 


NEW YORK: 

PUBLISHED BY ROBERT SEARS, 181 WILLIAM ST. 

J. S. REDFIELD, CLINTON HALL. 

BOSTON: F. S. SAXTON, 19 STATE STREET. 

AND BY BOOKSELLERS GENERALLY THROUGHOUT THE UNION. 




UDCCCLIll. 








Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, 

By ROBERT SEARS, 

in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Southern District 

of New York. 

•- 


/ * 

e? 



STEREOTYPED BY C. C. SAVAGK, 
13 Chambers Street, N. Y. 























/ 





INTRODUCTION. 


There are few enjoyments more rational, more congenial to an unvitiated taste, or more 
subservient to the moral faculties of human intelligence, than the practice of judicious 
reading. By it we may sit by our fireside, and hold converse with the patriarchs, sages, 
and prophets of hoary antiquity. Through its medium we can partake of and imbibe the 
sentiments of the fathers of science, philosophy, and religion; for the page of history holds 
a secret but powerful language, full of meaning, full of knowledge and wise precepts, por¬ 
trayed in either the beauties of virtue or the deformities of vice. While the individual 
devoid of a taste for reading, wanders on amid the glowing beauties of the mental creation, 

—a mere automaton—propelled only by the propensities of his animal nature, trampling 
the loveliest flowers beneath his feet, nor appreciates the sweet perfumes exhaled by the 
mutilated plants—the man of reading and reflection, taught by the wisdom of that Creator 
whom he knows through the medium of his intellectual cultivation, sees in everything 
around him, something to admire, something to charm him, and something to adore. He 
gathers from every hedge along the pathway of his existence, innumerable flowers, whose 
beauties garnish his tabernacle, and whose perfume will ascend as grateful incense to Heav¬ 
en, from the margin of the grave. While the view's, meditations, and hopes of the unread 
man are circumscribed within the narrow limits of his own existence, and he looks back, in 
the volume of the past, no farther than the few brief chapters that have been recorded since 
his infancy, and in the future his vision terminates at that point where the soul puts off' its 
mortality—the enlightened reader, fraught with the knowledge which books and concomi¬ 
tant meditation impart, views his own life as merely a faint speck within the area of his 
i mental vision, and upon the wings of imagination he travels back to the matin of creation, 
when “ the morning stars sang together, and the sons of God shouted for joy.” He sits 
upon the apex of a great eminence, whence he beholds a panoramic view of the world, from > 
the transactions in the garden of Eden to the present moment. In the political horizon, he 
observes the patriarchal power and petty sovereignties disappear at the approach of absolute 
and extended monarchy, and the whole earth governed by four great rulers. Again he sees 
these monarchies, weakened by luxury and grown unwieldy by conquest, falling by their 
own weight, and out of their ruins smaller monarchies appearing. These, in their turn, are 
seen to give way to a mightier, a more liberal and enlightened, and, we trust, a more endu¬ 
ring principle in political government—that of the republic ! Thus he sees power after 
power alternately destroying and destroyed, and watches, with intense interest, the progress 
of events, which, operating upon each other in accordance with a great design, have produ¬ 
ced the eminently-promising political, social, and religious condition of the world at this 
eventful period of its history. Thus may the student also watch the successive revolutions 
in the great empire of mind; and while he reads the history of men and nations, he may 
treasure up lessons of wisdom, upon which his country may make large draughts in the hour 
of peril. 

This country is pre-eminently distinguished for the facilities afforded for the diffusion of 
knowledge among all classes of the people. In addition to the admirable system of free 
schools which universally prevails, and the instruction in the higher seminaries of learning 
to be everywhere had at a mere nominal cost, there are more books, reviews, magazines, 
and newspapers, published here, than, it might almost be said, in the whole world besides. 
There being no onerous duties imposed upon them, no laws restricting or limiting their circu¬ 
lation, and they being consequently furnished at comparatively low prices, there is scarcely 











INTRODUCTION. 


4 




a family in the land, however humble its circumstances, but may have its library, upon 
which its members can draw for instruction or recreation during their leisure hours. The 
benefits resulting from this are seen in the superior intelligence of people in the common 
walks of life here, in comparison with the humbler classes in other lands. 

But, however flattering to the national pride this may be, we are compelled in truth to 
admit, these inestimable privileges, in both publishing and reading, are, to by far too great 
an extent, lamentably abused. Any person who takes a comprehensive view of the quan¬ 
tities of worse than worthless matter, under the name of “light literature,” daily thrown be¬ 
fore the public, and which forms the intellectual food of so great a proportion of the com¬ 
munity at the present day, will inevitably arrive at this conclusion. The prolific press so ■ 
overflows with romances, novels, and magazines and newspapers, filled with visionary } 
scenes, that the public taste in reading has been seriously vitiated. The imagination, ever ! 
susceptible to high-wrought pictures of romantic adventure, when improperly indulged, ! 
“ grows by what it feeds on,” till it outstrips every other mental power. To this may be at- i 
tributed, in a great degree, the credulity too often exhibited, and the tendency to be drawn ! 
into impracticable schemes and romantic speculations. An instance may perhaps be found in 
the eagerness with which, at the present time, thousands, excited by the glowing descrip¬ 
tions and extravagant stories almost daily published, of immense treasures to be found in 
the new El Dorado of the Pacific, are leaving friends, family, all the comforts and endear- 
! ments of home—many relinquishing a safe and profitable business—and embarking on a 
long and perilous voyage, bound for the “ gold regions,” 'with hopes buoyant, but which we 
fear will result, with very many—not in disappointment merely (the moral taught might 
compensate for that)—but in the loss of health and perhaps of life itself. Facts, the naked 
realities of life, are too tame to arrest the attention. They must be clothed or distorted in 
fiction, before they will possess sufficient interest for perusal. Many a magazine and news¬ 
paper, which has dealt principally with matters of science and fact, has failed of adequate 
support; while others, which are filled with fictitious and unnatural tales, romantic inci¬ 
dents, and sickly poetry, riot in abundance. 

To lend the aid of our humble endeavors in turning this current of taste in reading, thus 
tending to the broad waste of mental licentiousness, into a healthier channel, has been cur 
controlling motive in putting forth this volume, as it has been of the entire series of publi¬ 
cations which have from time to time been issued by us. In the preparation of this work, 
everything which might have an improper tendency has been carefully excluded. Nor has 
the design been a negative one merely ; care has also been taken that every article which 
found admission to its pages should possess a positive value—should impart some useful in¬ 
formation, or “ point a moral.” The illustrations have been selected with the same design. 
Many of them are from original sketches, procured with considerable trouble and expense. 
To avoid prolixity, and to give as great a variety as possible, the articles have generally 
been of as limited length as was compatible with justice to the subjects upon which they 
treated. There were a few exceptions, however, where the importance of the matters treat¬ 
ed, warranted and required more scope. Among these we would instance, “ Christopher 
Columbus, and the Discovery of America.” When it is taken into consideration, that, 
without the omission of a single important fact, we have here, condensed into twenty-six 
pages, the substance of several octavo volumes, by one of the most eminent writers of the 
present day—a scholar of whom our country may justly be proud—we are confident that 
it will not be deemed as absorbing too great a space. We feel assured, also, that no one can 
rise from the perusal of this description of the labors and trials of Columbus without a feel¬ 
ing—not simply of admiration of the hardy adventurer, who, with desperate resolution, 
launched forth on the Atlantic, hoping against hope, to discover he knew not what—but, of 
reverence for the philosophic truth-seeker, who, from the accumulated testimonv of ages, in 
the proud independence of conscious genius, moulded a most refined yet demonstrable theory 
of geographical facts;—and whose mind, when he set sail from Europe, was so deeply 
impressed with the weight of historical evidence, that he proceeded with confidence and 
certainty on the voyage which resulted in the discovery of a New World. 

There are many other subjects treated on, which will be found of more than ordinary 
interest, but our limits will not permit a reference to them in detail. It is hoped that this 
volume may be found in a measure worthy of that approval by the public which has been 
so generously accorded to our previous works. And should its publication tend, even in 
a slight degree, to encourage a more judicious and salutary taste in reading, we shall feel 
that we have not labored in vain. 

R. S. 

New York, April 6, 1849. 



























ALPHABETICAL TABLE OF CONTENTS. 


Agricultural Science. page 140 

Allston’s Aphorisms.....415 

America. 136 

American Continent.. 174 

American Scenery. 270 

Amherst College, with new Cabinet and Observatory 488 

Ancient Use of Elephants in War. 115 

Ancient Wine-Press.131 

Astronomy, Lectures on. 72, 119, 165, 209, 232, 315 

Beauty of a Benevolent Life. 159 

Belem or Para.,.250 

Biography of John Winthrop, First Governor of Mass. 178 

Biography of Hon. Robert C. Winthrop.425 

Biography of Rev. Spencer H. Cone. 499 

Blankets. 32 

Books—their Publication and Circulation. 78 

Bo-Peep. 80 

Boston Common. 52 

Boston Customhouse. 396 

Boston Water-Works. 494 

Boundlessness of the Material Universe. 108 

Bounties of Nature. 85 

Bounties of Providence. 329 

Bowling-Green.....:.496 

Burial Places and Funeral Rites. 23 

Burying a Priest in Siam. 386 

Burying Beetle. 446 

Catacombs of Pari3. 478 

Christmas in Germany. 33 

Christopher Columbus, and the Discovery of America 342 

Church of St. Gudule, Brussels.218 

Cincinnati.418 

Cod-Fishery.... Ill 

Commerce and Intellectual Eminence.328 

Consolations. 96 

Cotton-Bleaching. 240 

Courtship. 202 

Croton Aqueduct, New York.411 

Cultivation of the Mind. 157 

Curious Clock.288 

Curiosities of Arithmetic. 256 

Curiosities of Art.398 

Curiosities in Science. 80 

Customhouse at Philadelphia. 35 

Dead Sea. 77 

Diamonds. 126 

Divisions of the Globe.278 

Duties of Sisters and Brothers. 102 

Early Pleasure. 442 

England to America, Address of Rev. The:s Timpson 258 

English Language.287 

Esquimaux Indians. 214 

Exercise for the Eyes.368 

Expulsion of the Acadians. 138 

Extent of the United States. 39 

Fail of Babylon.279 

Frankness and Reserve.294 

Genius superior to the Sword. 64 

Girard College for Orphans.471 

Gold arid Silver Mines of Mexico. 94 

Government of the Temper.336 

Guardian Angel. 124 

Gutta Percha. 239 

Habits of the Roman Ladies.1 379 

Headstone. 289 

Hindoo Scholar. 144 

Hotel de Ville, Paris.476 

House of Rothschild.388 

How to Live. 247 

How to make Steel. 96 

Importance of Self-Knowledge.243 

Independence and Accumulation.370 

Independence Hall, Philadelphia.484 

Indian Child's Grave.482 

Indian Lock. 247 

Indians in Oregon. 283 

Infant Rducation.382 

John Hampden. 501 

John Hancock.-. 1® 

John Winthrop, First Governor of Connecticut.369 

Kindness and Censoriousness.113 

Landing of Winthrop, and Settlement of Boston— 462 

Law of Kindness.308 

Lindley Murray.300 

Literature of China. 260 

Literature of the Jews.246 

London Gin Palace. l° iJ 


Lycurgus, the Spartan Lawgiver. page 144 

Mammon and Mankind. 15 

M arriage.. 255 

Massachusetts Statehouse. 330 

Memoir of Louis Philippe.226 

Memory.487 

Mercantile Biography... 450 

Merchant’s Exchange, New York....474 

Mexico.205 

Migrations of Birds...285 

Moral Character of the Monkey.... 183 

Mutual Dependence. 14 

Mutual Instruction Classes... 93 

Natural Theology. 291 

Neapolitans on the Seashore. 106 

Nests of Fishes. 148 

New England Liberality, Schools, and Institutions_ 20 

New Houses of Parliament.492 

New Year’s Day... 11 

New Zealand.... 163 

Niagara Falla. 54, 72 

Night.... 130 

Noah Worcester, the American Apostle of Peace_ 88 

Old City-Hall in New York. 298 

Oregon.338 

Our Country. 7 

Our Parents.415 

Peace Societies. 321 

Philosophy of a Tear. 92 

Pilgrim Fathers.419 

Pittsburgh. 447 

Plan for Emancipation. 47 

Popular Taste. 424 

Power of Music.193 

Progress..... 306 

Public Libraries in Constantinople.292 

Rambling Essay upon Rooms..372 

Remedies against Moths. 95 

Researches on Food.141 

Russia. 198, 206, 406 

Saint Paul’s Church, New York.312 

Saint Petersburg... 264 

Saint Thomas, West Indies.240 

Scenery in England. 480 

Secret of Success.296 

Self-Government.266 

Shakers of New Lebanon. 132 

Ship-Anchorage at Whampoa, China.304 

Sierra Leone, Western Africa. 172 

Smithsonian Institute.442 

Snow, its Nature, Formation, and Uses. 455 

Social Influence...134 

Solar System.130 

Sons of the Ocean.332 

Sovereigns of Europe. 183 

S. P. Q. R—the Roman Standard. 324 

Steubenville, Ohio. 67 

Switzerland. 199 

Tears.391 

The Head and the Heart. 38 

The Lama. 149 

The Malays. 394 

The Niger. 269 

The Seen and the Unseen. 334 

The Self-Tormentors. 250 

Trajan and Robert Fulton. 267 

Travels in the Holy Land.40, 58. 98, 150, 185 

Tyre. 203 

Vegetable Curiosities. 223 

Viaduct over the Patuxent River. 86 

Visitations of Pestilence. 441 

Visit to Venice. 218 

Washington National Monument. 431 

Oration of Hon. R. C. Winthrop. 433 

Washington’s Residence at New York. 69 

Wasp Family. 160 

Western Emigrant. 138 

Western Scenery.324 

West Point. 378 

Whitefield and Wesley. 82 

Window Gardening. 83 

Winslow House, Marshfield..472 

Winter Not Monotonous. 105 

Winthrop Monument. 457 

Woman. 66, 454 

Youth and Age. 409 

Zoopliites, or Plant Animals. 249 
















































































































































































ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Design for a Monument to the Memory of Governor 

Winthrop. frontispiece 

New-Year’s Day .—“ The compliments of the Sea¬ 
son’’ . page 13 

Portrait of John Hancock, with a Fac-Simile of his 
Signature, copied from the Declaration of Inde- 

pendence.-.16 

The Hancock House, Boston.17 

Egyptian Funeral Procession.24 

Mummy-Cases and Marble Sarcophagi - - - 26 

Tombs of the Kings of Golconda.27 

Embalming.—The Processes of Bandaging and 

ancient Egyptian Monuments.28 

Painting an embalmed Body: designed from the 

Tomb of Hyder Ali.29 

Moraii of Owhyee.31 

Luther and his Family, with their Christmas-Tree 34 
Customhouse, Philadelphia—(formerly the United 

States Bank)..37 

Oriental mode of Travelling ------- 40 

Camels loading preparatory to starting * - - - 41 

An Encampment.42 

Hebron *. 43 

Bethlehem.44 

Jerusalem, with its Walls—a northwest View - - 45 
Convent erected on what Tradition affirms to be the 

Cave of the Nativity. ---46 

Tomb of Rachel.46 

The Boston Common, with the Statehouse in the 

Distance.53 

View of Niagara Falls below Table Rock - - - 55 
The Mosque of Omar, Jerusalem—on Mount Mori¬ 
ah, where the Temple of Solomon stood - - 57 

The Mount of Olives.59 

A Street in Jerusalem.- - 60 

Jews’ Place of Wailing—Temple Wall - - - - 61 

View of Steubenville, Ohio.68 

Niagara Falls viewed from the Clifton House - - 73 

The Dead Sea.77 

Bo-Peep.81 

Viaduct over the Patuxent, on the Baltimore and 
W ashington Railroad - -- -- -- -- 87 

Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives.97 

Pool of Siloam. 98 

Part of the Valley of Jehoshaphat, and Entrance to 

Jerusalem. .......99 

Garden of Gethsemane.100 

Neapolitans on the Seashore ------- 107 

Ancient Use of Elephants in War.115 

Elephants destroying Captives taken in War - 117 

Army on a March, with Elephants - - - - - 118 

The Guardian Angel.125 

Illustration of Diamonds. 126 

Ancient Wine-Press.131 

The Pioneer of the Western Forest.137 

The Hindoo Scholar.145 

Deiile between Jerusalem and Jericho - - - - 151 

Ruins of Jericho. 152 

The Plain of Jericho.153 

The River Jordan.154 

A Party of Missionaries crossing a Swamp in New 

.-Zealand. 164 

Part of Regent’s Town, a Settlement of liberated 
Negroes in the Colony of Sierra Leone - - - 173 

Regent's Town, from the Governor’s House - -175 
Portrait of John Winthrop, Founder of the City of 
Boston, and first Governor of Massachusetts - 

The Death-Bed of Winthrop. 

Present Appearance of Jerusalem. 

Terrace Cultivation - - -. 


177 

181 

185 

186 


Mounts Ebal and Gerizim .PAGE 187 

Mount Carmel.196 

View of Nazareth.191 

Promontory of Mount Carmel ------- 192 

View of Zurich, Switzerland.201 

Winter Travelling—Russian Courier - - - - -207 

Pulpit of St. Gudule, Brussels.217 

The Bridge Hotel, Newhaven (England) - - - 228 
Louis Philippe landing at Newhaven - - - - 229 

Louis Philippe and his Party at Breakfast at the 
Bridge Inn, Newhaven 231 

St. Thomas, West Indies, from Wright’s Wharf 241 
Indian (Hindoo) Lock, in the Form of a Bird - 247 

View of Belem, or Para, on the Amazon River - 251 
Portrait of Rev. Thomas Timpson, of London - 257 

Portrait of a Chinese Bookseller.263 

Mountains and Market-Canoes, near Bokweh, on 

the Niger, West Africa.271 

Belshazzar’s Feast—Daniel interpreting the Hand¬ 
writing on the Wall.280 

The Fall of Babylon..283 

Clock constructed by Isaac Plabrecht, A. D. 1589 288 
Interior of the Public Library at Constantinople - 293 
View of the old City Hall, Wall St., New York 297 
Ship-Anchorage at Whampoa, China - - - - 305 
St. Paul’s Church, and Astor House, New York - 313 
The Roman Standards, “ S. P Q,. R.” - - - 324 
View’ of the Statehouse, Boston ------ 331 

Oregon City, on the Willamette River - - - 337 

Portrait of Christopher Columbus 342 

Columbus before the Council of Salamanca - - 347 


Columbus quelling the Mutiny on board the Santa 

Maria.349 

Columbus taking Possession of the New World - 351 
Portrait of John Winthrop, first Governor of Con¬ 
necticut .-.369 

The Tomb of Kosciusko, at West Point - - - 377 

Burning a Priest at Tavoy, Siam.387 

View of the Customhouse at Boston.397 

Cronstadt, “ the Town of the Crown,” Russia - 408 

View of Cincinnati, from the Ohio.417 

Portrait of Robert C. Winthrop, of Massachusetts 427 
View of the Washington National Monument - 431 

View of the Smithsonian Institute. Washington - 443 
View of Pittsburg, from the Northwest - - - 449 

First Settlement of Boston.461 

Landing of Governor Winthrop at Salem, 1630 - 463 

The early Settlers of Boston travelling through 

the Wilderness.465 

View of Trimountain, or Boston, in 1630 - - - 466 

Map of Boston and Vicinity, in 1667 . 467 

View of Boston, in 1776, taken from the Road to 

Dorchester.469 

View of Girard College, Philadelphia .... 471 

The old Winslow House. Marshfield, Mass. - 473 

The Merchants’ Exchange, Wall St., New York 475 
View of the Hotel de Ville, Paris ------ 477 

Indian Parents at their Children’s Grave - - - 483 

The old Statehouse, or Hall of Independence, at 
Philadelphia—Walnut Street Front - - - 484 
Front view of the old Statehouse, Chestnut Street 485 
View of Amherst College, with the new Cabinet 
and Observatory, from the Southwest ... - 489 
View of the New Houses of Parliament - - - 493 

View of the New York Bowling-Green - - - - 497 
View of John Hampden's Residence - - - - 501 

View of Hampden's Monument.502 

Hindoo God Krishna, on an Elephant, composed 

of his Female Attendants.506 

The Blue-Jay.510 















































































SEARS’ 

TREASURY OF KNOWLEDGE. 


OUR COUNTRY. 

The pilgrim fathers were conducted to 
these shores by an Almighty Hand. They 
might have passed to other lands, far from the 
aggressors, and been safe. There were coun¬ 
tries nearer home that would have gladly wel¬ 
comed them to their shelters. But a mys¬ 
terious INFLUENCE RESTED UPON THEIR 
MINDS ; AND, ALTHOUGH IT WAS A HAZARD¬ 
OUS ENTERPRISE, TEEMING WITH DANGER, 
THEY RALLIED THEIR BROKEN SPIRITS, 
BRAVED THE WINDS OF HEAVEN, THE STORMS 
OF THE ANGRY DEEP, AND, IN HOPE AGAINST 
HOPE, IN THE VERY DEPTH OF WINTER, 
SPRANG UPON THE RUGGED ROCK OF PLYM¬ 
OUTH, BEARING WITH THEM THE SEEDS OF 
A HOLY RELIGION AND A VAST EMPIRE. 

Their origin and national character form a 
striking circumstance in the history of the 
country. They were of no plebeian race, 
neither were they all of high patrician birth; 
but generally selected from that class, which, 
in England especially, constitutes the very best 
and most enterprising of her citizens. They 
were inflexible, brave, and true. Indepen¬ 
dence of mind, a fearless spirit, with an un¬ 
paralleled strength of purpose, were charac¬ 
teristics by which they were distinguished. 
Another and a far different race might have 
been our fathers; but God had high and im¬ 
portant purposes in view, and he therefore se¬ 
lected men who possessed the power and were 
famished with the materials to lay the deep 
and broad foundations of a nation, destined 
to be unexampled and glorious. 

The nature of the constitutions and laws 
they framed and adopted, their moral tenden¬ 
cy, the strictness of their religious sentiments, 
all give evidence of an overruling Providence. 
Had the laws by which they were governed 
been less rigid and severe, their morals more 
pliable, and their faith cast in a more polished 
mould, it is a question whether their children 
would have retained, for so many years, cus¬ 
toms and manners, which, though antiquated, 
and ridiculed by the refined and skeptical, 


have contributed in a great measure to per- 
serve the American citizen, as yet, from many 
of the glaring absurdities and extravagant no¬ 
tions of his trans-atlantic brethren. On the 
whole, we may consider the character of the 
Pilgrims, their conduct and views, as not only 
beneficial, but absolutely necessary, in a re¬ 
ligious, moral, and political point of light, in 
forming the basis of a great and highly intel¬ 
ligent community. 

Their preservation from the scalping-knife 
of the savage and from the sword of Franee, 
is another mark of Divine favor. No per¬ 
sonal bravery, no tower of strength, could 
have secured them from the accumulated dan¬ 
gers that beset them. The country was then 
covered with thousands of the red warriors, 
armed and on the watch for their prey, urged 
on by Frenchmen who thirsted for blood. 
Early in their history we also mark a gracious 
interposition of Divine Providence, in the dis¬ 
comfiture and defeat of a powerful armament. 
Ere it had reached these shores, the Lord 
commissioned the elements to fight against it, 
and the proud fleet was scattered, dismasted, 
and broken by the four winds. 

And when the seeds of war sprang up in 
the breasts of the revolutionary heroes, were 
not the counsels of Great Britain strangely 
perplexed? The voice of wisdom forsook 
the senate and council-chamber, and the spirit 
of her king, her nobles, and her people, cow¬ 
ered to a palpably ignorant policy. 

At this period, big with the destinies of mil¬ 
lions, when all that is dear and valuable to 
man was at stake, and the hopes of America 
were on the point of being blasted for ever, 
the immortal Washington appeared cn the 
arena of battle. A mysterious and all -wise 
Providence seemed to designate him as the 
angel that was to lead the American armies 
to victory and conquest. He soon redet med 
the pledge his opening campaign gave to a 
deeply anxious and troubled people. His 
course was brilliant and successful. He met 
the veterans of a hundred hard-fought fields, 
wearing the laurels of victory, and they were 










8 


OUR COUNTRY. 


signally beaten; tbe country rescued from 
the invader’s sword, and its rights and privi¬ 
leges confirmed and acknowledged by the 
voice of nations and the wisdom of our fathers. 

The framing of the constitution, that great 
pillar of our country’s glory, is not among the 
least of the blessings by which these United 
States are distinguished. 

But who can read the page that opens upon 
the fiftieth anniversary of our independence, 
and not be struck with astonishment at the 
death of the two venerable patriots, Jefferson 
and Adams, who were both, on the morning 
of that auspicious day, basking in the sun¬ 
shine of a nation’s smile; but, ere the sun 
had set, were gathered with their fathers ?— 
who can pass over this imperishable mark of 
Divine interference, and not feel the full force 
of our observations ? 

The prosperity which has always crowned 
this country—more especially since her inde¬ 
pendence was established, is further proof 
that God is with us. She has increased in 
territory and in population, in riches, in enter¬ 
prise, and renown. Her religious, literary, 
and political institutions will bear a proud 
comparison even with those of Great Britain, 
F ranee, and Germany. 

From what has been said, we may fairly 
infer that America is destined, at no distant 
period, to take a more elevated and important 
station in controlling the destinies of the earth. 
If she is but true to herself, she can never 
retrogade. She must ever prosper, gathering 
strength and stability as she advances. The 
Almighty seems to have determined in her 
favor. As long as the religion of Jesus is 
permitted to lie deeply-rooted in her institu¬ 
tions, she can not fall. The Rock of Ages is 
as yet her abiding-place. She is supported 
by pillars of strength and beauty, that suffer 
no decay, and that bid defiance to the hand 
of the oppressor, and the tooth of time. 
Stupendous are the purposes, to accomplish 
which, she is to be the honored instrument. 
In the youth and vigor of her days, untram¬ 
melled and unconfined, bearing in her bosom 
the elements that have already given omens 
of great promise, what may she not perform ! 

Her voice is swelling to a louder note in 
other lands, and wherever the star-gemmed 
banner sweeps the free air of heaven, there 
will her influence be felt, and the fame of her 
doings create a flame and arouse a spirit which 
rivers can not quench, nor aimed multitudes 
subdue. The beacon of freedom to both 
hemispheres, its light will soon blaze on every 
island, sea, and mountain, on the globe, until 
myriads, guided by its mellow radiance, shall 
proclaim universal emancipation from chains 
and slavery, and man assume his legitimate 
place in the great scale of being. 


A yet more glorious contemplation is 
afforded by this animating subject. For 
achievements of moral sublimity, never em¬ 
ulated nor surpassed since the commence¬ 
ment of time, America stands eminently con¬ 
spicuous. Emanations that bear the royal 
signature of Heaven, cluster around us on 
every hand. Movements of a high and lofty 
import, which cast far into the shade all that 
has ever taken place on the earth since the 
hour of man’s redemption, seem to be shaking 
the universe, and strongly intimate the near 
approach of wonderful events. Christians in 
former times waged war on the borders of the 
enemy’s dominions only : their battles were 
but skirmishes. But their sons have resolved 
to penetrate the thickest ranks, and to attack 
the strongest fortresses; and they aim at 
nothing short of the complete overthrow and 
downfall of the empire of sin. 

The resources of this country are vast, her 
spirit bold and daring, not easily subdued, and 
capable of great and brilliant enterprise. It 
is but natural then for us to place her in the 
front rank of the Sacramental Host—her stars 
pouring light on the millennial morning, while 
her spirit-waking trumpet shall break upon 
the ears of slumbering millions. 

While we contemplate this magnificent 
scene, and behold the glorious prospect which 
the torch of inspiration reveals to our won¬ 
dering eyes, let us fear and tremble, lest we 
interrupt the high purposes of the Almighty, 
and, by our rebellion and obstinacy, turn away 
the streams of his munificence. We may 
contribute to the downfall of these high and 
towering hopes, by becoming forgetful of his 
mercy, and setting at naught his counsel. 
Are there not already monitory voices in the 
land ?—Do they not appeal to our hearts in 
the touching and emphatic language of na¬ 
ture, and of truth ? 

What says the history of the world, in re¬ 
gard to the evil to which we here allude ? 
The national debt of England is at present 
about three thousand millions of dollars—a 
debt produced by war; the interest of that 
debt,' and the parts of it already liquidated, 
amount to about ten times as much more. 
And what has England obtained for all this 
mighty outlay of capital? Where shall we 
look for the benefit which she has derived 
from this incalculable expense ? Ask the 
depths of the ocean, and the sunken fleets of 
the Nile and Trafalgar will answer. She has 
gained the fame of making her lion roar on 
the vanquished Armada ; of “ letting slip her 
dogs of war” upon the palmy shores of Hin- 
dostan; of giving Wellington immortality 
upon the plains of Waterloo: and is this all ? 
No! she has erected monuments in West¬ 
minster Abbey to the greatest butchers of our 











OUR COUNTRY. 


race that ever lived; it has written poverty 
upon the foreheads of the majority of her la¬ 
borers ; it has crushed the many with burdens 
and taxes to honor the destroyers of our race 
with a name—a name which, if society un¬ 
derstood its interests as it ought, would only 
render its possessor detestable and contempti¬ 
ble. This is only the influence of war on 
national prosperity. Infinitely more disas¬ 
trous is it in its consequences upon private, 
than upon public property; and infinitely 
more extensive. Whole navies can better be 
sunk in the ocean, than the poor man’s house 
be burned over his head by an invading army. 
Wars add to national wealth ! Wars increase 
national prosperity ! Give us the money that 
has been spent in war, and we will purchase 
every foot of land upon the globe: we will 
clothe every man, woman, and child, in an 
attire that kings and queens might be proud 
of; we will build a schoolhouse upon every 
hillside, and upon every valley upon the hab¬ 
itable earth ; we will supply that schoolhouse 
with a competent teacher; we will build an 
academy in every town, and endow it; a col¬ 
lege in every state, and fill it with able pro¬ 
fessors ; we will crown every hill with a 
church, consecrated to the promulgation of 
the gospel of peace ; we will support in its 
pulpit an able teacher of righteousness; so 
that on every sabbath morning, the chime on 
one hill should answer to the chime on another, 
round the earth’s broad circumference, and 
the voice of prayer, and the song of praise 
should ascend, like a universal halo, from 
earth to heaven; the darkness of ignorance 
should flee before the bright light of the sun 
of science: Paganism would be crushed by 
the fall of her temples—shaken to their deep 
foundations, by the voice of Truth; War 
would no more stalk over the earth, trampling 
under his giant foot all that is beautiful and 
lovely beneath the, sky ! This is not fancy ; 
we wish it were : it reflects on men. It is 
the darkest chapter in human depravity, to 
squander God’s richest blessings on passion 
and lust. 

Who that has attentively viewed the rela¬ 
tion of parties for the past few years, can but 
feel loathing and disgust for the conduct of 
the partisan press of the country ? We ad¬ 
mit, for the honor of human nature, that there 
are exceptions, and we take pleasure in record¬ 
ing the fact. But it is of the spirit of parties 
that we would especially speak—it is that 
state of things by which one man is favorably 
or unfavorably aflected toward another, ac¬ 
cording to the degree of his supposed or known 
adherance to party. As a consequence, it has 
led to deep-seated personal animosity ; it has 
given rise to clans or cliques, whose conduct 
lias frequently caused the abandonment of 


9 


correct and sound principles; has caused the 
nomination of irresponsible men for responsible 
stations, whose only qualifications for official 
distinction were wholly based upon a blind ad¬ 
hesion to the mandates of party, thereby ex¬ 
cluding from office the most worthy and best- 
educated men in our country. Look, for ex¬ 
ample, at any of the canvassings before any 
of our general elections—see how low in the 
scale of intellectual being those who have the 
management of parties descend—they ex¬ 
hibit very little disposition to reason. The 
leading editorials evince intensity of feeling, 
and are frequently characterized by sucli vir¬ 
ulence of manner, such heated temper, such 
deep-seated personal animosity, involving a 
total loss of self-respect, that the high con¬ 
siderations of truth, justice, and patriotism, 
become merged in the tornado of passion and 
excitement. Many forget the dignity of their 
calling, and descend to write calumnies by the 
wholesale. No place—no time—no condition 
of any candidate for any considerable popular 
favor, is beyond their malevolent attacks.— 
Even the domestic circle is frequently invaded, 
and things stated for truths which the authors 
at the time well know to be wholly false. 
How many columns of private scandal have 
been printed to serve party purposes ? How 
often has the doctrine been acted upon, that 
the end justifies the means ? Is this mere 
imagination, or is it sober truth ? Let every 
disinterested reader answer for himself. How 
many pure, upright, and honorable men, have 
been excluded from political favor, by the ca¬ 
bals of the day ? Men of intelligence, of ac¬ 
knowledged worth and abilities, have been 
thrust ruthlessly aside, to give place to the 
brawling demagogue. They were unwilling 
to enter a contest where known merit, talent, 
and strict adherence to principle, were made 
subservient to the blustering ofliciousness of 
the porter-house cliques of the times. We 
firmly believe our country has been cursed 
quite long enough by the trammels of party. 
Let men learn to act and speak for themselves, 
unawed by the frowns or threats of the mere 
partisan, and in our opinion a healthier state 
of things would immediately ensue. Let us, 
then, individually, and as a people, respect 
real worth and sterling integrity, whenever 
and wherever it is found. It was upon these 
principles our forefathers—the heroes of the 
revolution—acted. They invariably made 
merit the test of favor. Let us, in this respect 
at least, imitate their example, and thus prove 
ourselves worthy sons of such noble sires. 

If there be one practical precept which we 
could wish to be printed in starry characters 
on the dark face of our mighty sky, written 
in sunbeams on the tablet of the earth, and 
uttered both night and day in voices from 









the heavens, that the attention of men might 
he irresistibly turned to it, and their hearts 
unavoidably impressed by it, this is the one, 

-“ FORBEARING ONE ANOTHER IN LOVE.” 

This one short precept, universally obeyed, 
would set all right, and produce all order. It 
would not at once reconcile all minds, but it 
would harmonize all hearts. It would not 
amalgamate all churches into an external uni¬ 
formity, but it would combine them all in the 
unity of the spirit, and the bond of peace. It 
might not hush the voice of controversy, but 
it would take from it the harsh dissonance 
of human passion, and cause it to speak in the 
mellifluous tones of Divine charity. 

The souls of our countrymen, slain by in¬ 
fidelity and intemperance, with their asso¬ 
ciates in profligacy, error, and vice, lifteth 
another cry, high up into the heavens. It 
calls sternly for vengeance on these offspring 
of a most cruel and relentless fiend. Such 
enemies as these should find no favor, no har¬ 
borage among the children of the Pilgrims. 
For these sins the land mourns. While these 
are countenanced, nay, even sometimes passed 
by without reproof, and, what is still worse, 
applauded, there is great cause to fear; and 
although as yet no very alarming consequen¬ 
ces may have been the result, such departures 
from the living God must sooner or later, ter¬ 
minate unfavorably, leaving our country a 
prey to the tempest, that has overwhelmed in 
its resistless course the mightiest empires of 
the old world,—that rolled upon ill-fated 
France an avalanche of guilt and crime, 
and whose destructive influence, if not boldly 
and successfully encountered, may, ere long, 
bury deep in its own ruins the noble fabric, 
reared by the toils and virtues, the blood and 
prayers of the illustrious fathers of our coun¬ 
try.* 

Eloquent voices come down out of heaven 
to reprove us. They warn us of approach¬ 
ing evils, and call loudly upon us to repent in 
dust and ashes. Let us, then, as individuals, 
each one contribute his part to stem the tor¬ 
rent of corruption. The enemy is at the 

* National Morality. —Claimingfull exemption 
from all superstition, we firmly believe, and take plea¬ 
sure in announcing it, that no state can prosper in a 
long career of true glory, in the disregard of the 
claims of justice, and the injunctions of the Christian 
religion. A fioodtide of apparent prosperity may 
come, filling for the time the avenues of trade, and 
satiating the cravings of taste and curiosity, yet, 
sooner or later, it has its ebb, and either cloys with 
its abundance, or leaves the void greater than before. 
History is a silent but eloquent witness of its truth, 
and from her undying lamp sheds a stream of un¬ 
ceasing light along our pathway. The fabrics of an¬ 
cient greatness, built by injustice and consecrated to 
ambition, are now flitting shadows before us, starting 
up from behind the broken pillars and falling columns 
that were reared to perpetuate the genius by which 
they were wrought. 


door. He is forcing an entrance into our most 
sacred places. The temples of religion and 
the seats of learning are tainted with the mon¬ 
ster’s foul breath, and the promise and strength 
of our young men are bowing down under the 
weight of his relentless and withering arm. 
Beneath his iron heel the loveliest flowers of 
earth are crushed, and the beautiful buddings 
of virtue for ever blasted. There is no time 
to be lost. And while each for himself makes 
secure the foundation of his own hopes, let 
our prayers ascend for our country, that amid 
all the flashings of its brightness, it may be 
irradiated by the light of religion, blessed by 
the prayers of its citizens, worshipped with 
the gratitude of every patriot heart; and then 
the return of each year shall be hallowed by 
increasing associations of moral sublimity, till 
every beam shall have met in one common 
focus, even the salvation and happiness of ev¬ 
ery individual who forms a part and lives 
within the boundaries of the great republic 
of the western world. 

One of the noblest moral pictures of an¬ 
tiquity is that of Curtins leaping into the 
gulf that had yawned in the Roman Forum 
—and the patriot poet could not have found, 
in the rainbow regions of fancy, a more glori¬ 
ous picture than that drawn by Robert Treat 
Paine, which represents Washington stand¬ 
ing at the portals of our national temple, 
catching, on the point of his sword, the light¬ 
nings of faction, and guiding them harmlessly 
to the deep. But higher honors await the 
American patriot who walks around the bul¬ 
warks of our empire, lifts the voice of warn¬ 
ing at every suspicious appearance, and moulds 
its highest towers to the transcendent model 
of republican beauty and Christian simplicity. 
Bombastic, inflated forms of speech, although 
used to surfeiting on the subject of our na¬ 
tional independence, do not belong to it any 
more than gaudy coverings and silken frippery 
belong to the perfect forms of ancient statua¬ 
ry. . The sublimity of circumstance and of 
fact is enough to chain the tongue to its most 
chastened simplicity, while the ardor of the 
grateful distended heart burns in the eyes, and 
lends eloquence to language. 

We have alluded to infidelity, as a serpent 
foe in the midst of us—but although we warn, 
we do not fear. This serpent shall trail the 
dust beneath the chariot wheels of pure re¬ 
publicanism—and a little further onward, 
chained to the millenial car, the monster’s 
blood and the tom fragments of his sinuous 
body shall be scattered in the whirlwind revo¬ 
lutions of angry wheels. There is a natural 
land where there is no serpent. There shall 
be an entire world where no moral serpent’s 
hiss shall startle innocence, or interrupt the 
singing of the turtle-dove. 











NEW-YEAR’S DAY. 11 


Go read the history of the past, on pages 
written with blood ! Count, if you can, the 
slaughtered victims that have found their last 
resting-place on the gory battle-plains which 
are so thickly interspersed throughout our 
earth, making it, as it were, one vast Potter’s 
field. Watch those drops of anguish and 
sorrow, that have gushed from affectionate 
hearts, broken by the fierce carnage of war, 
and see them, as a mighty river, swelling to 
an ocean of grief sufficient to drown all the 
warring hosts of every age. Hearken to the 
wail of widows and orphans, deep-toned and 
terrible enough even to startle the myriads of 
hell, and make them cower before the storm 
of anguish ! But that storm shall pass away ; 
and mountains that have interposed to make 
enemies of nations, shall be levelled before 
the advancing triumphs of him who came 
heralded as the “ Prince of Peace.” The 
instrument of death, under the skill of the 
ingenious mechanic, shall turn the sod and 
prepare it for the seed, which shall present 
her “ full coni in the ear” to the hand of man. 
Happy ! glorious epoch in the world’s history ! 
The Lord hasten its consummation! Then, 
Christian patriot, is your triumph ! The bat¬ 
winged minions of darkness shall retreat be¬ 
fore this morning of moral independence, and 
one wide generous glow of radiance diffuse 
itself above, around the lovely and loving dis¬ 
ciples of the ever-blessed Jesus. Then shall 
earth be like heaven. Then rejoicings shall 
break out in every desert and barren land, 
while the ancient fertility hastens back to 
earth, as when Adam first sung his morning 
hymn in Eden. Then the sons of God will 
shout for joy, as in the morning of the young 
creation. Then a more heavenly song than 
the hoarse trumpets breathe, or the deep- 
mouthed cannon utter, shall roll its harmonies 
through the vocal creation, swelling its solemn 
sweetness to every ear— “Peace on earth, 

AND GOOD WILL TO MAN.” 

“ O scenes surpassing fable, and yet true; 

Scenes of accomplished bliss! which who can see, 
Though but in distant prospect, and not feel 
His soul refreshed with foretaste of the joy ? 

One song employs all nations ; and all cry, 

* Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us !’ 

The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks 
Shout to each other, and the mountain tops 
From distant mountains catch the flying joy ; 

Till nation after nation taught the strain, 

Earth rolls the rapturous hosannah round. 

See Salem built, the labor of a God ! 

Bright as a sun the sacred city shines ; 

All kingdoms and all princes of the earth 
Flock to that light; the glory of all lands 
Flows into her ; unbounded is her joy, 

And endless her increase.” 


NEW-YEAR’S DAY, 

“ A hapty new tear !” has been the 
repetition of a thousand merry voices this 
morning. This is a day on which old feuds 
should be broken down, warm friendships be 
strengthened, and new acquaintances formed. 
New York, of all the states, keeps new- 
year’s day with the greatest spirit. It is one 
of the bequeathments of our Dutch forefa¬ 
thers. While in New England the austerity 
of the puritan breathed the denunciation of 
the iconoclast on all festivals, the homely set¬ 
tler of New Amsterdam encouraged them. 
The savants of the east'enacted laws to make 
the people sober, and to render illegal all sup¬ 
port of such festivities. When bleak and 
cheerless winter set in on the little island of 
Manhattan, the severity of the season was 
utterly disarmed by the social qualities of its 
plain good-natured inhabitants. There was a 
regular interchange of visits among the neigh¬ 
bors, and all parties laid in a large supply 
of cookies, as was called their lcoek, or cake, 
on which to regale themselves. Probably 
from this circumstance has come down to us 
the present agreeable custom of the gentle¬ 
men making their calls on the ladies of the 
household. The first day of the year has in 
it something peculiar, and which at once rec¬ 
ommends it to the observance of every heart: 
the customary division of time of the world’s 
age, of the different phases of history, and 
what endears it more particularly, of the life 
of man. The birthday remembrance is but 
an individual consideration, but on this day 
the nations, as with a simultaneous thought, 
add one to the years of their being, while old 
mother Earth dots another year of her ex¬ 
istence on the calendar of time. This is a 
day of gifts, a day for the expression of af¬ 
fection by little mementoes, which become the 
household representatives of love and kind 
regard. Man in many traits is the same now 
that he was some thousands of years ago. We 
now give new-year’s presents—so did the an¬ 
cient Romans. On the first of January, long 
before the advent of the Messiah, the Eternal 
City was kept in a yearly hum with the pas¬ 
sing feet of the bearers of the strence , or 
presents: the patron received them from his 
client, the citizen gave them to the magistrate, 
and friends gave them to each other. The 
visiter brought his xenium, or guest-gift, and 
received his strence , or return-gift. These 
were new-year’s presents. The gifts con¬ 
sisted chiefly of rare coins, gilt dates, plumbs 
dried and gilt, figs, and other small household 
matters, ornamented with the head of Janus, 
to which god the festivities of the day were 
dedicated. Persons visiting had their com¬ 
pliments, which have come down to us. An- 









num novum fastum felicenque tibi , said the 
ancient Roman to his friend. A prosperous 
and happy new year to you! great stress be¬ 
ing laid on the word prosperous, for success in 
any matter on new-year’s day, augured well 
for the whole year. The Druids had their 
solemn days for cutting the sacred mistletoe 
with a golden knife, from some aged tree in 
their forest, dedicated to their gods, This, 
with much ceremony, was dried into branches, 
and distributed on new-year’s day as gifts to 
the people. Our Saxon ancestors, in common 
with the Teutonic nations or tribes, made 
merry on this day, observing it with gifts and 
unusual festivity. Indeed, it was a season of 
great importance with them, as from it they 
numbered their age; and the hoary-headed 
man of seventy was called the man of sev¬ 
enty merry-makings. England does not cel¬ 
ebrate the day with much festivity, the only 
observance being that betrinning on the last 
night of the old year ; the bells of the various 
churches ring out their merry peals until past 
midnight—as is said, they ring the old year out 
and the new year in. But the greatest eclat, 
is given to this festival in Franee, where all 
other nations are far outstripped in the lavish 
nature of the gifts. The expenditures for 
sweetmeats, &c., in Paris, exceed $100,000, 
while the sales of jewelry and fancy articles 
for some five days about this time, equal one 
fourth the sales of the whole year. A Paris¬ 
ian of 10,000 francs a year, -will spend one 
fifteenth of it in new-year’s presents. In the 
visits of the day, the French have an etiquette 
which is quite becoming. The nearest rela^l 
tions are first visited, and so on, until fhe;y 
have all been called on; then the friends are 
visited. This is all done in the morning. A 
dinner is given, and the evening winds up 
with social amusements. Still, although we 
do not make such lavish expenditures, we are 
not a whit behind any people in the social 
enjoyment of the time. The kind congratu¬ 
lations between the sexes, make it a happy 
day, and a fitting debut of the coming year. 
Enjoy it, then. Be social, forgiving, and 
kind-hearted, and in the midst of this glad 
festivity let gratitude have a place in every 
heart. Remember those who are in adversi¬ 
ty, and see that the poor have the means of 
uniting in the festival. Temperance is a vir¬ 
tue, which confers on her faithful votaries, on 
festivals like to-day, blessings in rich profu¬ 
sion ; while Bacchus overwhelms his follow¬ 
ers in drunkenness, disgrace, pain, despair, 
and sorrow. 

We can not better close our remarks on 
the new year than by giving the ruminations 
of Washington Irving from his “ elbow 
chair— 

“In this season of festivity, when the gate 


of lime swings open on its hinges, and an hon¬ 
est, rosy-faced, new year comes waddling in, 
like a jolly, fat-sided aldennan, loaded with 
good wishes, good humor, and minced pies; 
at this joyous era, it has been the custom, from 
time immemorial, in this ancient and respect¬ 
able city, for periodical writers, from reverend, 
grave, and potent essayists, like ourselves! 
down to the humble but industrious editors of 
magazines, reviews, and newspapers, to ten¬ 
der their subscribers the compliments of the 
season; and when they have slily thawed 
their hearts with a little of the sunshine of 
flattery, to conclude by delicately dunning 
them for their arrears of subscription-money. 
In like manner, the carriers ol newspapers, 
who undoubtedly belong to the ancient and 
honorable order of literati, do regularly, at 
the commencement of the vear, salute their 
patrons with abundance of excellent advice, 
conveyed in exceeding good poetry, for which 
the aforesaid good-natured patrons are well 
pleased to pay them exactly twenty-five 
cents. This honest, gray-beard custom of 
setting apart a certain portion of this good- 
for-nothing existence for the purposes of cor¬ 
diality, social merriment, and good cheer, is 
one of the inestimable relics handed down to 
us from our Dutch ancestors. In addition to 
this divine origin of new-year festivity there 
is something exquisitely grateful to a good- 
natured mind, in seeing every face dressed in 
smiles ; in hearing the oft-repeated salutations 
that flow spontaneously from the heart to the 
lips ; in beholding the poor, for once enjoying 
the smiles of plenty, and forgetting the cares 
which press hard upon them, in the jovial 
revelry of the feelings; the young children, 
decked out in their Sunday clothes, and freed 
from their only cares, the cares of the school, 
tripping through the streets on errands of 
pleasure; and even the very negroes, those 
holy day-loving rogues, gorgeously arrayed in 
cast-ofi' finery, collected in junts, at corners, 
displaying their white teeth, and making the 
welkin ring with bursts of laughter, loud 
enough to crack even the icy cheek of old 
winter. There is something so pleasing in all 
this, that I confess it would give me real pain 
to behold the frigid influence of modem style 
cheating us of this jubilee of the heart, and 
converting it, as it does every article of social 
intercourse, into an idle and unmeaning cere¬ 
mony. ’Tis the annual festival of good hu¬ 
mor ;—it comes in the dead of winter, when 
nature is without a charm, when our pleasures 
are contracted to the fireside, and when every¬ 
thing that unlocks the icy fetters of the heart, 
and sets the genial current flowing, should be 
cherished, as a stray lamb, found in the wil¬ 
derness, or a flower blooming among thorns 
and briers.” 










































































































































































































































































































































































































MUTUAL DEPENDENCE. 


14 


MUTUAL DEPENDENCE, 


The mutual relationship and dependence 
of those who constitute the body politic, and 
who, when regarded in this point of view, 
may be resolved into the two general classes 
of governors and governed, is easily demon¬ 
strable by such a plain and simple process of 
reasoning as that which follows. The body 
of man, from its liability to be affected by 
hunger and cold, stands in need of food and 
raiment. With these, the Indian or the sav¬ 
age, who is content to eat the flesh, and wear 
the skins of the animals he shoots or spears in 
the thicket or forest, can supply himself. But 
the inhabitants of civilized countries, like our 
own, commonly obtain their food and clothing 
by purchase. There is no purchasing either 
the necessaries or the comforts of life without 
money: and unless this be possessed, as in 
the case of those who are usually denominated 
rich, by right of inheritance, it must be ac¬ 
quired, as in the case of the poor, by indi¬ 
vidual or relative exertion. Both rich and 
poor, however, need protection, more than 
themselves can furnish, from the attacks of 
ruthless violence : the rich, that they may 
keep possession of what they have inherited, 
or honestly accumulated ; and the poor, that 
their persons may be unmolested while they 
are engaged in earning a subsistence for them¬ 
selves and their families. This protection of 
property and person, from the robber or plun¬ 
derer, and the mischievously-disposed, is af¬ 
forded to rich and poor alike, by the laws of 
their country, which, for this purpose, impose 
restraints, and threaten penalties. But the 
laws of a country, in order to become efficient 
as the means of yielding protection must be 
duly administered and enforced. The admin¬ 
istration of law devolves upon the executive 
government. And in return for the protection 
afforded both to rich and poor by a due ad¬ 
ministration of the laws, such a government 
is justly entitled to support from those under 
its superintendence. 

As the circumstances of the case thus es¬ 
tablish a mutual relationship between the gov¬ 
erned and their governors, so likewise do they 
render them dependent upon each other; and 
as the governed can not say to their govern¬ 
ors, “ We have no need of your protection;” 
so neither can rulers say to those under their 
jurisdiction, “ We have no need of your at¬ 
tachment and support.” 

And since a similar relationship exists 
among the members of the social body, there 
is also a similar state of dependence observa¬ 
ble. The mechanic and the laborer are de¬ 
pendent upon their employers for the means 
of earning a livelihood ; and their employers 
are dependent upon the mechanic and the la¬ 


borer for the manufacture of their goods, and 
the cultivation of their lands. The manufac¬ 
turer is dependent upon the merchant for the 
vending of his wares; and the merchant is 
dependent upon the manufacturer for a proper 
quantity of merchandise. The agriculturist is 
dependent upon the public at large for the 
consumption of his grain; and the consuming 
public are dependent upon the agriculturist 
for a plentiful supply of produce. The poor 
are dependent upon the rich for the distribu¬ 
tion of their wealth, that they may have 
wherewith to purchase food and clothing ; and 
the rich are dependent upon the poor for the 
comforts and conveniences they derive from 
the skill of artisans and servants. Trades¬ 
men and workpeople, and, indeed, all ranks 
in society, the higher as well as the lower, are 
dependent upon those belonging to the learned 
and scientific professions for the valuable and 
beneficial exercise of their varied talents; 
and the members of these professions are de¬ 
pendent upon those who employ them, for 
the emolument by which they are enabled to 
support themselves, and maintain their re¬ 
spectability. 

Nor is this social dependence merely recip¬ 
rocal. It extends throughout the whole, com¬ 
munity ; so that those of one class can not 
say to any of the other classes around them, 
“We have no need of you.” The correct¬ 
ness of this statement may be shown by the 
familiar illustration which the materials and 
making of a pair of shoes will furnish. Sup¬ 
posing the leather to be a home production, 
not imported from abroad, it is stripped in the 
form of skin from the carcase of an animal, 
bred by a farmer or grazier, and slaughtered 
by a butcher; and this skin is prepared by 
the tanner, and dressed by the currier, pre¬ 
vious to its being cut, shaped, and put togeth¬ 
er, by the shoemaker and his assistants. In 
putting the different parts of a shoe together, 
waxed thread is used ; the wax being a com¬ 
position of substances usually imported ; and 
the thread spun by a twine-spinner of hemp 
which he obtains from the flax-dresser, who 
either imports the article, or purchases it of 
the grower. And before a single nail can be 
driven into the heel of a shoe, the miner must 
be at work in getting iron ore ; the smelter in 
separating the metal from the dross with his 
furnace,; the forger in beating out the pig-iron 
into bars or rods; and the nailsmith in re¬ 
ducing the iron rods to the size and length re¬ 
quired. But the nailsmith, the forger, the 
smelter, and the miner; the twine-spinner and 
flax-dresser, the shoemaker, the currier, and 
the tanner—all use a variety of tools in their 
respective operations, which tools are made 
by other artificers. And the commodities im¬ 
ported from abroad are brought across the sea 































MAMMON AND MANHOOD. 


15 


in ships, which must be constructed, fitted 
out, and navigated, by ship-carpenters, riggers, 
storekeepers, and sailors. Consequently, those 
who wear pegged shoes (which working and 
country people generally prefer), are depen¬ 
dent, directly or indirectly, upon the shoe¬ 
maker with his long list of co-operators ;* and 
these again are all dependent upon the wear¬ 
ers of shoes for the share they contribute 
toward providing them with employment; 
nor can either party say to the other, “We 
have no need of you.” 

It is fully evident, therefore, that man is 
not an independent, but a dependent being. 
His life, his comforts, his enjoyments, are all 
derived. And in himself considered as a sol¬ 
itary individual, he possesses no resources out 
of which his wants can be supplied. On God, 
as the Father of mercies, he depends for the 
bestowment of providential favors; and on 
his fellow-creatures, as members of society, 
for the means of their attainment. “ Every 
good gift and every perfect gift is from above, 
and cometh down from the Father of lights,” 
Jas. i. 17 ; yet the blessings he bestows upon 
his creatures are conveyed through the medi¬ 
um of their fellow-men; that by perceiving 
their fraternal relationship, they may act 
toward each other as members of the same 
vast family; and by rendering each other 
mutual assistance, may confirm and strengthen 
the natural bonds of social life. 


MAMMON AND MANHOOD. 

I 

The Scripture speaketh not in vain in say¬ 
ing that “ the love of money is the root of all 
evil,” for there is not an evil under the sun, 
to the commission of which men are not 

* It may not be improper to observe here, that this 
extensive dependence is productive of great advan¬ 
tages, since it enables individuals to purchase at a 
cheap rate, what otherwise it would be impossible for 
many of them to procure. If one person had to pro¬ 
vide and prepare all the requisites for a pair of shoes, 
as well as to put them together, the price demanded 
as a fair remuneration for time occupied, and labor 
bestowed, must of necessity be incalculably great. 
In a book entitled, “ The Results of Ma^iinery,” it 
is remarked : ** There are thousands of families, on 
the face of the earth, that would be glad to exchange 
all they have for a tin kettle, or an iron pot, which 
can be bought almost anywhere for twenty or 
thirty cents. And could the poor man in this coun¬ 
try, but once see how even the rich man in some 
other places must toil, day after day, before lie can 
scrape or grind a stone, so as to be able to boil a lit¬ 
tle water in it, or make it serve for a lamp, he would 
account himself a poor man no more. A gipsy car¬ 
ries about with him more of the conveniences of life, 
than are enjoyed by the chiefs or rulers in countries 
which naturally have much finer climates than many 
parts of our own.” 


prompted by the love of money; and yet, 
notwithstanding all the light on this subject 
given in the Scriptures, and confirmed by gen¬ 
eral experience, men everywhere are occupied 
in the constant and keen pursuit of wealth, 
and the prime object with the many is to ob¬ 
tain it, and to push their families forward in 
the unhappy race of avarice and aggrandize¬ 
ment. For money, men sacrifice domestic 
comfort, health, character, and even hazard 
life itself; for it, they are guilty of fraud, 
deception, and robbery. 

For money they sacrifice friendship, grati¬ 
tude, natural affection, and every holy and di¬ 
vine feeling. For money, man becomes a 
creeping, crawling, obsequious, despicable 
creature, instead of walking erect as the off¬ 
spring of God. Mammon and Manhood are 
incompatible. 

Why all this anxiety about money ? why 
this constant fever, this pushing and driving 
in order to obtain it ? even because men form 
a false estimate of life and its elements. “ A 
man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of 
the things which he possesseth.” He who 
would live must stir up the divine fire that is 
in him, to consume selfishness, and to dispense 
light and heat to all around. Money he may 
seek in moderation, as a means, not as an end ; 
and in order to preserve his manhood, he must 
learn to practise self-denial and economy, and 
to be contented with small things; above all, 
he must remember that God has set honor 
upon labor, by appointing man to live by la¬ 
bor; labor is truly honorable, and however 
mean the occupation may be, if honest, it is 
never disgraceful. 

Instead, therefore, of sinking Manhood in 
the pursuit of Mammon, by creeping, crawl¬ 
ing, and bending to every one whom you may 
imagine can help you forward in the race of 
worldly advancement, stand erect , determine 
in the strength of God to be a man, to buy 
the truth, at whatever cost, and never to sell 
it for any price ; to labor at any work if need¬ 
ful, to speak what is in thy heart, and never 
to creep, and crawl, and mutter. God helps 
those who help themselves. 

Stand upon thy Manhood in the world, not 
upon thy Mammon; stand upon thy own 
character and upon thy own estimate of thy¬ 
self made in all honesty, not upon the opin¬ 
ion of others. Be afraid of sin , but never 
shrink at misrepresentation, or at contumely, 
or contempt, or poverty. Why should you 
be afraid ? Life is in thyself, and thy enjoy¬ 
ment should be unapproached and unapproach¬ 
able. 


It once was, when men were worthy of 
office the people knew it first, but now the 
office-seeker first finds it out. 












JOHN HANCOCK. 


Portrait of John Hancock, with fac-simile of his signature, copied from the Declaration of Independence. 


JOHN HANCOCK, 

t 

“ Thy spirit, Independence, let me share, 

Lord of the lion heart and eagle eye. 

Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare, 

Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky. 

Immortal liberty, whose look sublime 

Hath ^blanched the tyrant’s cheek in every varying 

We have much pleasure in presenting to 
our readers a correct portrait of the above- 
named celebrated patriot, whose bold and 
manly signature is so much admired, on the 
charter of our liberties, together with a view 
of the old mansion-house, still standing in 
Boston. 

John Hancock was born at Quincy, near 
Boston, whence have emanated the two presi¬ 
dents Adams. He was the son and grandson 
of eminent clergymen, but having early lost 
his father, was indebted for a liberal educa¬ 
tion to his uncle, a merchant of great wealth, 


whose counting-house he afterward entered, 
but soon sailed for England, where he was 
present at the coronation of George III. His 
uncle dying in 1774, he succeeded to his large 
fortune and business. He was active as a 
member of the provincial legislature against 
the royal governor, and became so obnoxious 
to him, that after the battle of Lexington, he 
and Samuel Adams were excepted by name 
in a proclamation offering pardon to the rebels 
who should swear fealty to Britain. They 
escaped from one door of a house as the Brit¬ 
ish soldiers entered it at another, and thus 
their valuable persons were preserved to aid 
the good cause of the Revolution. 

Hancock was president of the provincial 
congress of Massachusetts, until sent a dele¬ 
gate to the general congress at Philadelphia, 
in 1775, where he was soon chosen to suc¬ 
ceed Peyton Randolph as president of that 
august assembly. He was the first to affix 













































The Hancock House, Boston. 



2 












































































































































































































































































































































































































































































JOHN HANCOCK. 


IS 


his signature to the Declaration of Indepen¬ 
dence, which was first published with no other 
name attached. He filled this important chair 
till 1779, when gout compelled him to retire 
from congress. He was then elected govern¬ 
or of Massachusetts, and was annually chosen 
from 1780 to 1785, and after an interval of 
two years was re-elected, and continued to fill 
the office until his death, October 8th, 1793, 
at the age of fifty-six years. He acted also 
as president of the convention of the state for 
the adoption of the federal constitution, for 
which he voted. 

His talents were rather useful than brilliant. 
He seldom spoke, but his knowledge of busi¬ 
ness, and facility in despatching it, together 
with his keen insight into the characters of 
men, rendered him peculiarly fit for public 
life. Being well acquainted with parliament¬ 
ary forms, he inspired respect by his atten¬ 
tion, impartiality, and dignity. In private life 
he was remarkable for his hospitality and be¬ 
neficence. He was a complete gentleman of 
the old school, both in appearance and man¬ 
ners, and was a magnificent liver, lavishly 
bountiful, keeping a coach and six horses, and 
distinguished for his politeness and affability. 

When Washington consulted the legislature 
of Massachusetts upon the propriety of bom¬ 
barding Boston, Hancock advised its being 
done immediately, if it would benefit the 
cause, although nearly his whole property 
consisted in houses and other real estate in 
that town. Can-oil, of Carrollton, and Han¬ 
cock, probabty risked more property on the 
event of the struggle than any other two in¬ 
dividuals. The estate at Quincy, which was 
his inheritance, is now the property of our dis¬ 
tinguished countryman, the venerable ex-pres¬ 
ident, John Quincy Adams. 

The first provocation of the British gov¬ 
ernment which created a spirit of civil discord 
among her provinces, was the imposition of 
duties upon the importation of foreign mer¬ 
chandise, and other injuries impairing the pros¬ 
perity of the colonial commerce. Upon this 
occasion, all the address and diligence of Mr. 
Hancock was exerted in opposition to a sys¬ 
tem of legislation so rapacious and tyrannical. 
It was by his agency, and that of a few other 
citizens of Boston, that for the purpose of 
procuring a revocation of these duties, asso¬ 
ciations were instituted to prohibit the impor¬ 
tation of British goods; a policy which soon 
afterward being imitated by the other colonies, 
first served to awaken the apprehensions of 
the people, and to kindle those passions that 
were essential to the success of the war and 
the preservation of their liberties. The agi¬ 
tation of this subject produced no common 
animosity, and in some instances acts of atro¬ 
city and outrage, of which we may mention as 


among the most conspicuous, the case of Mr. 
Otis, who at the instigation of a British offi¬ 
cer, was assailed by a band of ruffians, with 
a violence which impaired his reason, and 
hastened his death. 

About the same time, a vessel belonging to 
Mr. Hancock, being loaded, it was said, in con¬ 
travention of the revenue laws, was seized 
by the customhouse officers, and carried under 
the guns of an armed vessel at the time in the 
harbor, for security; but the people, exas¬ 
perated by this offensive exertion of authority, 
assembled, and pursuing the officers, beat 
them with clubs, and drove them on board 
their vessels for protection. The boat of the 
collector was then burnt in triumph by the 
mob, and the houses of some of his most ob¬ 
noxious adherents were, in the first transports 
of popular fury, razed to the ground. Thus 
Mr. Hancock, in more ways than one con¬ 
tributed to set the great wheel of the Revolu¬ 
tion in motion, though he could not liin self 
have approved of such acts, which were dis¬ 
approved by the legal authorities. Yet Han¬ 
cock derived from his connexion with the af¬ 
fair an increased popularity. At an assem¬ 
bly of the citizens, Mr. Hancock and others 
were appointed to request of the governor a 
removal of the British troops from the town, 
which the governor attempted to evade. A 
second committee being selected, of which 
Mr. Hancock was chairman, voted the ex¬ 
cuses made inadmissible, and by a more per¬ 
emptory tone of expostulation, urged and ob¬ 
tained their removal. This governor had 
complimented Hancock in 1767, with a lieu¬ 
tenancy. But declaring his determination to 
hold no office under a man whose vices and 
principles he considered hostile to the liberties 
of his country, he tore up the commission in 
presence of many citizens; for which bold 
act he received the severe reprehension and 
threats of the royal government. 

Of the modesty of Hancock there is a very 
beautiful anecdote related by his biographers. 
That there were members of the first Con¬ 
gress of superior age to his, and men at the 
same time of pre-eminent virtues and talents, 
will not be denied. The occasion was one 
upon which calmness was essential, for rarely 
in the vicissitudes of nations, has it happened 
that interests more sacred have been confided 
to the infirmity of human wisdom and integ¬ 
rity, or that a spectacle more imposing has 
been exhibited to human observation. Mr. 
Hancock’s timidity at being called to fill the 
chair was relieved, it is said, by a strong- 
nerved member from the south, "who led or 
bore him to the speaker’s seat; when placed 
in that conspicuous position, he presided with 
a dignity and capacity that extorted the re¬ 
spect and approbation of even his enemies. 












JOHN HANCOCK. 


After his death, his body lay in state at his 
mansion, where great multitudes thronged to 
pay the last offices of their grief and affec¬ 
tion. His obsequies were attended with great 
pomp and solemnity, and amid the tears of 
his countrymen, he was committed to the 
dust. 

His wife was a Miss Quincy, whom he 
married about twenty years before his death. 
She was the daughter of an eminent magis¬ 
trate of Boston, and one of the most distin¬ 
guished families in New England. No chil¬ 
dren of this connexion were left to inherit his 
fortune or perpetuate his name ; his only son 
having died during his youth. 

In stature Mr. Hancock was above the 
middle size, of excellent proportion of limbs, 
of extreme benignity of countenance, posses¬ 
sing a flexible and harmonious voice, a manly 
and dignified aspect. By the improvement 
of these natural qualities from observation and 
extensive intercourse with the world, he had 
acquired a pleasing elocution, with the most 
graceful and conciliating manners. Of his 
talents it is a sufficient evidence, that in the 
various stations he filled, he acquitted himself 
with an honorable distinction and capacity. 
His communications to the general assembly, 
and his correspondence as president of con¬ 
gress, are enduring proofs of his putting his 
shoulder effectively to the wheel of public 
affairs. His knowledge was practical and fa¬ 
miliar. He neither penetrated the intricacies 
of profound research, nor did he mount to in¬ 
accessible elevations. 

Hancock first put his name to the immortal 
Declaration of Independence; had his life 
been marked by no other event, it would have 
entitled him to ever-enduring renown—but in 
connexion with that act, he combined great 
and useful wisdom in the councils of our in¬ 
fant nation, and his name will descend to pos¬ 
terity with unqualified lustre. 

The old mansion in which Hancock lived, 
is situated upon the elevated ground in Bea¬ 
con-street, fronting toward the south, and com¬ 
manding a fine view of the “ Common.” The 
principal building is of hewn stone, “ finished, 
not altogether in the modem style, nor yet in 
the ancient Gothic taste.” It is raised twelve 
or thirteen feet above the street; and the as¬ 
cent is through a garden, bordered with flowers 
and small trees. Fifty-six feet in breadth, the 
front terminates in two lofty stories. While 
occupied by Governor Hancock, the east wing 
formed a spacious hall; and the west wing 
was appropriated to domestic purposes : the 
whole embracing, with the stables, coach¬ 
house, and other offices, an extent of two 
hundred and twenty feet. In those days, 
there was a delightful garden behind the man¬ 
sion, ascending gradually to the high lands in 


19 


the rear. This spot was also handsomely em¬ 
bellished -with glacis, and a variety of excel¬ 
lent fruit-trees. From the summer-house 
might be seen West Boston, Charlestown, 
and the north part of the town ; the colleges, 
the bridges of the Charles and Mystic rivers 
—the ferry of Winnisimet, and “ fine coun¬ 
try of that vicinity, to a great extent.” The 
south and west views took in Roxbury, the 
highlands of Dorchester and Brookline, the 
blue hills of Milton and Braintree, together 
with numerous farmhouses, verdant fields, and 
laughing valleys. Upon the east, the islands 
of the harbor, “ from Castle William to the 
lighthouse, engaged the sight by turns, 
which at last was lost in the ocean, or only 
bounded by the horizon.” 

Governor Hancock inherited this estate 
from his uncle, Thomas Hancock, Esq., who 
erected the building in 1737. At that period, 
the “court part of the town” was at the 
“ north end,” and his fellow-citizens marvel¬ 
led not a little that he should have selected, 
for a residence, such an unimproved spot as 
this then was. 

In the lifetime of that venerable gentleman, 
the doors of hospitality were opened to the 
stranger, the poor, and distressed; and annu¬ 
ally, on the anniversary of the Ancient and 
Honorable Artillery Company, he entertained 
the governor and council, and most respecta¬ 
ble personages, at his house. The like atten¬ 
tions were shown to the same military body 
by Governor Hancock, who inherited all the 
urbanity, generous spirit, and virtues of his 
uncle. 

It is now, we believe, the property of some 
of the descendants of Governor Hancock, and 
rented as a private dwelling. But since the 
demise of that eminent man, the hand of time 
and improvement has been constantly con¬ 
tending, around and against it. It can not 
long resist such attacks; and, before many 
years elapse, this famous mansion will proba¬ 
bly be razed to the ground, “ and its place 
supplied by others.” 


Government of Temper. —Every human 
creature is sensible of the propensities to some 
infirmity of temper, which it should be his 
care to correct and subdue, particularly in the 
early period of life; else, when arrived at a 
state of maturity, he may relapse into those 
faults which were originally in his nature, and 
which will require to be diligently watched 
and kept under, through the whole course of 
life ; since nothing leads more directly to the 
breach of charity, and to the injury and mo¬ 
lestation of our fellow-creatures, than the in¬ 
dulgence of an ill-temper. 









20 NEW ENGLAND LIBERALITY, SCHOOLS, AND INSTITUTIONS. 


NEW ENGLAND LIBERALITY, 

SCHOOLS, AND INSTITUTIONS. 


“ For learning, be liberal. Spare no cost; for 
by such parsimony, all is lost that is saved; but 
let it be useful knowledge, such as is consist¬ 
ent with truth and godliness.”— William Penn. 

The first settlers of New England are just¬ 
ly entitled to a large share of the credit of 
having given an impulse to the cause of pop¬ 
ular education. In the year 1668 , a document 
was published, by order of the governor and 
council of Massachusetts, and addressed to 
the elders and ministers of every town, in 
which paper was set forth an earnest desire 
for the moral and religious instruction of the 
people, and an appeal to those to whom the 
instrument was directed, to examine whether 
the education of youth in the English language 
was attended to. From the time of Win- 
throp, Mather, and their associates, who 
•labored most zealously in this field of useful¬ 
ness, to the present period, New England has 
devoted her attention to the promotion of 
knowledge ; and in the industry, integrity, and 
frugality, of her children, beholds now the bril¬ 
liant results of her perseverance. When we 
consider that the tide of emigration, which is 
sweeping before it the forests of the west, 
takes its rise in the eastern section of the Uni¬ 
ted States, and bears upon its bosom the ele¬ 
ments of enrichment—that it is composed in a 
great degree of those who have been enabled 
there to obtain the rudiments of learning—the 
first principles of valuable information—ought 
we not to be grateful to those who have toiled, 
and feel it to be both a privilege and duty to 
acknowledge with gratitude the many princely 
donations of the “ sons of the pilgrims” to the 
cause of education, in order to keep the fount¬ 
ain well supplied, pure, and transparent, for 
future use ? 

When proper respect is thus paid to such 
as are possessed of those liberal talents and 
enlightened views, which constitute true 
greatness, it must evidently be productive 
of the happiest consequences—especially to 
youth, whose minds are so open to impres¬ 
sions, and on whom the force of example acts 
with an important effect, that can not fail of 
producing a corresponding good—exciting a 
laudable emulation ; leading their views from 
grovelling pursuits to a search after and love 
of virtue, knowledge, and the various quali¬ 
ties which strengthen society, brighten the 
social links which bind man to his fellow-man, 
and so pre-eminently distinguishes the mem¬ 
bers of a civilized, intelligent community, from 
the rude and unenlightened nations of coun¬ 
tries where education and its train of blessings 


have never been, or are but imperfectly 
known. There is something peculiarly pleas¬ 
ing and impressive in the contemplation of 
great and good characters—in those who just¬ 
ly claim the appellation;—we view, ad¬ 
mire, and feel an irresistible longing to be like 
them, to imitate their virtues, and to practise 
their precepts; we feel ourselves better, and 
destined to an advancement in knowledge and 
strength, from the proud consciousness of par¬ 
taking their natures, and possessing, however 
humble, a spark of that celestial, intellectual 
fire, which illumines so brilliantly their minds, 
and emanates from one common source—the 
great and inexhaustible Fountain of light and 
goodness! 

It is universally admitted that ignorance is 
the fruitful source of crime and misery. This 
fact is sufficient, we should imagine, to arouse 
the most profound attention, and create the 
deepest anxiety in the bosom of every philan¬ 
thropist. The necessity of educating the peo¬ 
ple of a free government is admitted on every 
side ; and yet, through a culpable inertness, in 
many states of the Union, on the part of those 
whose duty it is to move forward on this mo¬ 
mentous subject, an immense portion of those 
into whose hands the destinies of this last 
sanctuary of freedom must be delivered, is left 
in total darkness, and wholly unacquainted with 
the information necessary to the formation of 
valuable citizens. The cause of freedom— 
the tranquillity of our country—the present 
happiness and future prosperity of millions— 
demand activity, and exhort the people of the 
United States to unite in a “crusade against 
ignorance”—a crusade in which every true 
knight, who rallies under the holy standard, 
can lay the flattering unction to his heart that 
he is the champion of the cause of truth, and 
of the disenthralment of the human mind from 
the most debasing species of servitude. Let 
the watchword be, in the ever-vigilant camp 
of the faithful, “ Liberty and Education.” 

We have been led into this train of reflec¬ 
tion by perusing in the public prints, from 
time to time, accounts of the various munifi¬ 
cent individual donations of the wealthy, pa¬ 
triotic, and benevolent citizens of Boston, in 
support of its institutions for moral, religious, 
and literary purposes—continuing unabated 
from year to year.* Among the most recent, 
we notice the donations of Hon. Abbott Law¬ 
rence to Harvard college, amounting to fif¬ 
ty THOUSAND DOLLARS. Hon. DAVID SEARS 
lias also given ten thousand dollars to the 
same institution, and a like sum to Amherst 

* Boston has been called the “ literary emporium 
of the western world,” and perhaps justly, for it is a 
fact that a greater portion of men distinguished for 
acquisitions of this nature have arisen in this city and 
the vicinity, than in any other part of the United 
States. 










NEW ENGLAND LIBERALITY, SCHOOLS, AND INSTITUTIONS. 


college.* Amos Lawrence, Esq., Hon. Thom¬ 
as H. Perkins, William Appleton, Esq., 
ami many other gentlemen of well-known lib¬ 
erality, in Massachusetts, have contributed of 
their abundance to the advancement of learn¬ 
ing. Such instances of enlightened liberality 
are to be highly commended, and constitute 
one of the noblest features of New England 
good sense and feeling. 

We might furnish similar accounts of oth¬ 
ers, whose coffers are not closed, but who are 
ever on the giving hand—encouraging talent, 
promoting industry, and fostering the fine arts, 
thus setting a most noble and praiseworthy 
example to the wealthy men of other cities, 
which we could wish more generally imitated. 
These benevolent and useful men—descend¬ 
ants of the noblest ancestry ever possessed by 
any people—citizens of the “ mother state” of 
New England, the very birthplace and cradle 
of American freedom—possess the principles 
of that most remarkable body of men, per¬ 
haps, which the world has ever produced. 
They well know that knowledge is an all- 
powerful engine to preserve their civil and re¬ 
ligious rights, and transmit them to posterity. 
They therefore very early laid the foundation 
of those free schools , of which all the sons and 
daughters of New England are justly proud. 
Exclusive of infant and sabbath school schol¬ 
ars, about a quarter part of the population of 
Boston is kept at school throughout the year, 
at an annual expense of two hundred thousand 
dollars. Since the year 1800, not less than 
two millions of dollars have been appro¬ 
priated to the cause of education by the citi¬ 
zens of Boston. This is good evidence that 
“ the pilgrim spirit has not yet fied.”f Under 

* Five thousand dollars to Harvard College for the 
erection of an Observatory Tower, now known as 
the Sears' Tower. In this tower is placed the Great 
Telescope, the gift of Boston citizens, and from it are 
dated all the scientific reports of the observers, Messrs. 
G. and G. T. Bond. 

Five thousand dollars to create a fund, the income 
of which is to be appropriated to the suppoit of the ob¬ 
servers, and other purposes of science. 

Ten thousand dollars to Amherst College to estab¬ 
lish a foundation and an accumulating fund, for the 
advancement of literature and science, the income to 
be j applied, as the trustees, in their discretion, may 
vote the proper objects. 

The other gentlemen mentioned have also been equal¬ 
ly liberal, in various ways, with their own views of 
utility, and merit an equally distinguished notice. 

t Says a celebrated foreign writer, in no wise par¬ 
tial to the Puritans : “ They were men whose minds 
had derived a peculiar character from the daily con¬ 
templation of superior beings and eternal interests. 
Not content with acknowledging in general terms 
an overruling Providence, they habitually ascribed 
every event to the will of the Great Being for 
whose power nothing was too vast, for whose inspec¬ 
tion nothing was too minute. To know Him, to serve 
Him, to enjoy Him, was with them the great end of 
their existence. They rejected with contempt the 
ceremonious homage which other sects substituted 


21 


no system but Christianity does true liber¬ 
ty exist, or are human rights properly re¬ 
spected. By it the existence of man is in¬ 
vested with dignity and importance ; by this 
levelling and exalting system, every human 
being, in whatever circumstances of degrada¬ 
tion he may be placed, stands on an equality 
with the mightiest potentate on earth, and to 
his fate is attached a mysterious and incon¬ 
ceivable importance. 

We are well aware that all political dema¬ 
gogues, to whatever party or profession they 
may belong, are, as it may naturally be sup¬ 
posed, secretly, if not openly, opposed to pop¬ 
ular education. And they are so, because an 
ignorant, idle, and immoral population are more 
easily managed to suit the purposes of a dem¬ 
agogue than an enlightened and well-principled 
one. 

In a late article on the subject of education, 
by one of our ablest and most industrious wri¬ 
ters,* particularly on statistics, we find the 
following remarks:— 

“As respects New England, however, it 
will be universally admitted, we think, that 
none of its states has ever fallen into so low a 
condition, that the mass of its citizens, under 
whatever party banners they might be enlist¬ 
ed, would allow their political leaders to break 
down a system which affords every individual 
an opportunity of obtaining an education at 
the public expense, and, consequently, free 
of charge to the poorest classes. 

“It is true that even in Massachusetts, 
where education, from the most elementary 
to the highest branches of instruction, has been 
most liberally encouraged—not by the state, 
but by individuals—the demagogues belong¬ 
ing to the profession of the politician, as well 
as the demagogues in all other vocations of 
life, have not been wanting in their wishes and 
exertions to hinder an advancement in popular 
education, and even to lower its present stand¬ 
ard ; but they never have had the countenance 
of any considerable portion of either of the 
two predominating political parties. * * * 

“ On the distribution of the surplus revenue 
of the United States some few years since, an 
effort was made by the friends of popular ed¬ 
ucation, in and out of the legislature, to lay 
aside the share coming to Massachusetts— 
amounting to $1,047,620—as a fund, the in¬ 
come from which to be applied to the promo¬ 
tion of education ; but it failed. 

“ In truth, of the vast sums which, for half 

for the homage of the soul. On the rich and the elo¬ 
quent, on nobles and priests, they looked down with 
contempt; for they esteemed themselves rich in a 
more precious treasure, and eloquent in a more sub¬ 
lime language—nobles by the right of an earlier cre¬ 
ation, and priests by the imposition of a mightier 
hand.” 

* H. Lee, Esq., of Boston. 









NEW ENGLAND LIBERALITY, SCHOOLS, AND INSTITUTIONS- 


22 


a century and more, have been appropriated 
for the support of education and for its ad¬ 
vancement, by far the largest portion has aris¬ 
en from the benefactions of charitable and mu¬ 
nificent individuals. As a state, considering 
that the annual income of its inhabitants is 
much greater than that of the people of any 
other state of equal number of persons, we 
have done less for the promotion of education 
than New York and several other members of 
the Union. And, but for the unexampled gen¬ 
erosity of individuals, the institutions for in¬ 
struction in the higher branches of education 
—leaning, as they have done, almost wholly 
on the bestowments of individuals for support 
—must, without that private aid, have been 
in a very low condition, compared with their 
existing one. So, in regard to charitable es¬ 
tablishments : they mainly owe their origin 
and support to the well-considered and wisely- 
bestowed contributions of individuals,—nine 
tenths of which, perhaps, may have come 
from the citizens of Boston. 

“ Although the legislatures of Massachu¬ 
setts, and especially within the last fifty years, 
have not shown so enlightened and liberal a 
disposition as their predecessors have done 
(considering the vast accession to the proper¬ 
ty of its inhabitants) in regard to popular ed¬ 
ucation, in consequence of the hinderances 
thrown in the way of the advocates of educa¬ 
tion by the demagogues of both parties—nev¬ 
ertheless, it is to be hoped that the time has 
arrived when the resistance made by the dem¬ 
agogues in the legislature and elsewhere, to an 
advancement in the quality of the schools, and 
in the qualifications of the teachers, will be 
discountenanced and overcome by influential 
men of all parties. Such will certainly be 
the conduct of reflecting men ; for what, we 
ask, is there so necessary to the prosperity, 
self-respect, and to the general welfare of the 
mass of the people, as the advantages deriva¬ 
ble from education ? 

“ Upon this all-important subject of educa¬ 
tion, there are the following just and timely 
remarks in Governor Briggs’ late address to 
the legislature :— 

“ ‘ I can not,’ says this intelligent and ex¬ 
cellent magistrate, ‘ forbear to present to your 
earnest consideration, as I have heretofore pre¬ 
sented to the consideration of your predecessors, 
the important subject of popular education. 

“ ‘ This subject should be ever present with 
the people of the commonwealth and with their 
legislature. Neither can neglect it without 
bringing a just reproach upon themselves, and 
doing injustice to trhe rising generation. 

“ ‘In the order of Providence, to each suc¬ 
ceeding generation of men is committed the 
education of the children. This is a high and 
sacred duty. No generation can perform it 


but once. It can not be omitted without 
guilt. 

“ ‘ The people of Massachusetts can not for¬ 
get, and ought not to forget, that under Prov¬ 
idence, the important element of her prosperi¬ 
ty has been the ceaseless, diversified, and per¬ 
severing industry of her population. To labor, 
contrived by the heads and performed by the 
hands of her freemen, under the control and 
influence of her moral, religious, and free in¬ 
stitutions, she mainly owes her present char¬ 
acter and standing among the states of this 
confederacy. 

“ ‘ On this she must relv for her future weal 
and success. Our people regard all honest 
employment as honorable, and look upon idle¬ 
ness, among the rich or the poor, as the pro¬ 
lific parent of vice. But labor, to be success¬ 
ful, must be intelligent. The well-spring of 
this intelligence is, and always must be found, 
for the great mass of our population, in the 

district school-house.’ 

******* 

“ In order to overcome, in some degree, the 
prejudice which, it is conceived, usually exists 
on the part of the uneducated portion of the 
country against opinions of leading men in the 
educated states, we cite the following editorial 
remarks from a respectable journal published 
in Richmond, Virginia :— 

“ ‘ The reason of the eminent success, and 
the wonderful manifestation of intellectual and 
moral power which the New-England states 
are exhibiting on the rest of the states, and on 
the general welfare, consists in these two 
things: every child must be educated, and 
placed on the same footing while receiving his 
education ; and every honorable occupation is 
held in like esteem. The consequence of this 
state of things is, that all men are mentally fit 
for all pursuits to which their genius applies, 
and talent is not uselessly employed. This 
state of things will make any people rich and 
powerful. If a man has genius for the intri¬ 
cacies of mechanism, he will not nor can not 
distinguish himself or thrive as a fanner, law¬ 
yer, doctor, or merchant. By reversing the 
system of things here, as they exist in New 
England, we are struggling against the Al¬ 
mighty himself, and of course we can not suc¬ 
ceed. Our policy is wrong, and the sooner 
we right it the better.’ 

“ If, as alleged by this Virginia writer, the 
prosperity of New England is justly attribu¬ 
table to the advantages derived from a system 
of general education, it would seem to follow 
that the poverty of Virginia is owing to the 
people of that commonwealth having, as as¬ 
serted by the editor, acted upon ‘ the reverse 
of the New-England system.’—‘ Our policy,’ 
says this intelligent writer, ‘ is wrong, and the 
sooner we right it the better. We are strug- 































BURIAL PLACES AND FUNERAL RITES. 


23 


gling against tlie Almighty himself, and of 
course we can not succeed.’ ” 

These extracts, carefully written by their 
judicious author, are well worthy of deep and 
prayerful consideration by men of all classes 
and political creeds. Nothing can be more 
true than the sentiments therein urged. What 
are any people, without the advantages of ed¬ 
ucation ? Ignorance, indigence, and pauper¬ 
ism, with their usual concomitants and conse¬ 
quences, will continue to be among their most 
prominent characteristics. 

Let public opinion therefore at once, through 
the influence of the press, the pulpit, and pub¬ 
lic lectures, be aroused to the necessity of the 
education of children ; let the instruction of a 
child be considered the paramount duty of a 
good citizen, and then public sentiment will 
act much more powerfully to produce the re¬ 
sults desired than the staff of the police-offi¬ 
cer. Public opinion is the best balance-wheel 
of the machinery of a society constituted as 
that is in which we live. 

It must be by promulgating among the mass 
the sentiment of the necessity of education— 
by arousing their attention to its value—by 
demonstrating its beneficial results, as not only 
the best check on the increase of crime and 
the prevention of pauperism, but also the pro¬ 
moter of public order and private happiness 
—that we can hope to have education gener¬ 
ally diffused. So soon as the people are con¬ 
vinced, we shall secure the brilliant object 
which all should desire to be effected. To 
produce great results, must be the work of 
time. The past labors of the people are the 
best evidences of their devotion to the advance¬ 
ment of learning, and give great hope that the 
same system of education which has originated 
in the New-Endand states, will become uni- 
versal, and laid with a broad and deep founda¬ 
tion, on which the pyramid of the republic’s 
glory and security may rise, and remain an 
imperishable monument of the wisdom of her 
statesmen. 


BURIAL-PLACES & FUNERAL RITES. 

“ Let’s talk of worms and graves, and epitaphs, 

Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes 
Write sorrow on the bosom of this earth ; 

Let’s choose executors, and talk of wills;— 

And yet not so—for what can we bequeath, 

Save our deposed bodies to the ground V 

Shakspebe. 

Tiie customs and observances relative to 
the dead form a most interesting point of do¬ 
mestic history; the distinctive rites which have 
marked the ceremony of burial frequently fur¬ 
nish an index to national manners, and they 


carry with them to the mind a powerful im¬ 
pression of the universal solemnity with which 
death has been regarded. And why is this, 
that in every nation over which a sunbeam 
floats or a moonbeam falls, every nation w r here 
man is found, every nation where Death reigns 
—(and where does he not reign —should be 
marked by this dread of dissolution ? What 
is that feeling which causes man instinctively 
to shudder as he stands on the border of the 
grave ? 

-“ Why shrinks the soul 

Back on herself, and startles at destruction 1” 

It is a feeling which ranges through all or¬ 
ders of intellect and all orders of society, all 
religions and sects—the pagan and the Chris¬ 
tian, the Mohammedan and the Jew. Phi¬ 
losophers have stepped forward, and, with 
something like courage, they have spoken of 
death as the great vestibule which leads to 
immortality; but we have seen them shudder 
and shrink back aghast, and their philosophy 
was tinged with gloom. 

Poets—Blair, Young, Gray, the Montgom¬ 
erys, and Bryant—have broken the silence of 
the graveyard with the wild and fitful mur- 
murings of their harps; but the wild notes 
were only as the gusts of mournful wind which 
sweep round the sepulchre, and breathe a 
balmy sadness over the peopled solitude.— 
Young, Blair, and Porteus, will be quoted as 
contradictory of this : it will be said they sung 
a lofty paean of triumph, and their songs were 
not the songs of death. Yes, but they did not 
set their foot upon corruption: they walked 
round the grave and sang; their spirits should 
have entered the grave; they should have 
flashed the fires of immortality on the very 
place of worms ; they should have tom down 
the mystic curtain, and shown that death is 
actually not dreadful; that death has actually 
no power; that universally as the spirit of 
corruption reigns, the spirit of immortality 
starts with flashing pinions from the ashes of 
corruption; that every sad rite and funereal 
solemnity, every solemn marble and falling 
tear, every national funeral ceremony, is the 
proud and towering evidence of death’s defeat; 
that annihilation is a thing unknown through 
all the range of finite and infinite ; that de¬ 
struction is renovation, and renovation immor¬ 
tality. And this can be shown. It can be 
seen that all burial-rites are holy solemnities. 
Ay, holy! for fantastical and superstitious as 
they may seem, they all contain one grand 
assumption: that at the cessation (shall we 
thus call it ?) of man’s existence, his vital part 
returns to its grand and primal origin. If the 
followers of Thales interred in water, it was 
because water was believed to be the origin 
of all things, and the destiny of man. Why 










24 


BURIAL-PLACE3 AND FUNERAL RITES. 


rvn n ... 


>s 


did the disciples of Heraclitus build the high 
funereal pile, and why, amid sacrificial in¬ 
cense, did they bum their friends upon it ? 
Was it not because they believed the human 
soul to be a thing of flame, born and cradled 
(so to speak) in fire ? If the Romans flung 
the rose upon the grave, that it might shed its 
fragrance there; if the Greeks laid around it 
the amaranth and the myrtle ; if they built the 
funereal pyre of sweet fuel—the evergreen- 
trees, the cypress, the fir, the larix, and the 
yew—did they not thus give an evidence of 
their hope and belief in immortality, and show 
that, they indulged the sweet expectation of 
meeting the departed loved ones over again ? 
Nay, was not every custom a symbol, and ev¬ 
ery ceremony a type ? If, when the pyre was 
kindled, the face was averted from the spec¬ 
tacle, was it not to show the grief with which 
they ministered the melancholy office ? Yet, 
as they were commanded in performing the 
ceremony to lift the eye upward toward the 
blue heavens, was it not to evidence the ex¬ 
pectation of reunion there ? 

The first cemetery of which we have any 
notice is that which existed beyond the lake 
Aclierusia, or Acharejisli, in Egypt, which 
name signified the last state of man. This 
cemetery and its various ceremonies laid the 
foundation of many of the notions connected 
with Egyptian and Grecian mythology: the 
lake we have mentioned gave rise to the fable 
respecting Acheron. On the borders of the 
lake Acherusia, a tribunal composed of forty- 
two judges was established, to inquire into the 
life and character of the deceased : without 
this examination a corpse could not be carried 


tf’tn 

Hi' 

<{'/ 


'//V 


ill 




SJjyS; 


t*. 


me ~ 

pilfer 


J ’ 


k-,J0 


M 




O 




IT 




X. 




Egyptian Funeral-Procession. 





































































































BURIAL-PLACES AND FUNERAL RITES. 


4 


to fche cemetery beyond the lake. If the 
deceased had died insolvent, the corpse was 
adjudged to the creditors, in order to oblige 
his relatives and friends to redeem it. If his 
life had been wicked, the privilege of burial 
was refused to it, and it was carried and thrown 
into a large ditch, called Tartar, on account 
of the lamentations this sentence produced 
among the friends and relatives of the de¬ 
ceased. The Greek Tartarus had its origin 
in this Egyptian one. If no accuser appeared, 
or it the accusations w r ere found groundless, 
the judges decreed the regular burial, and an 
eulogium on the deceased was pronounced 
amid the applauses of the bystanders: in this 
eulogy his talents, virtues, accomplishments, 
everything, except his rank and riches, were 
praised. 

To carry the corpse to the cemetery, it was 
necessary to cross the lake, and to pay a small 
sum for the passage. This circumstance has 
been carefully transplanted into the Grecian 
mythology. The cemetery was a large plain, 
surrounded hy trees and intersected by canals, 
to which was given the appellation Elisout, or 
Elisiaeus, meaning rest. Every one recog¬ 
nises in this description the Greek Charon, his 
boat, his ferry-money, and the Elysian fields. 
The whole ceremony of interment seems to 
have consisted in depositing the money in an 
excavation made in a rock, or under the sand, 
which covered the whole Elisout; then the 
relatives of the deceased threw three handfuls 
of sand as a sign to the workman to fill up the 
cavity, after uttering three loud farewells. 

One of the customs relating to the dead 
which has obtained among all nations, is that 
of mourning. As a custom it is very ancient: 
the oldest records bear some notices of the 
modes of mourning for the dead. Abraham 
mourned for Sarah, Joseph mourned for his 
father, and the children of Israel mourned 
thirty days for Moses. The origin of wear¬ 
ing a different dress arose doubtless from the 
circumstance of the carelessness and indiffer¬ 
ence which was engendered by death in the 
family. The colors of mourning are different 
in different countries. In Europe and Amer¬ 
ica, the ordinary color for mourning is black ; 
in China, it is white, a color that was the 
mourning of the ancient Spartan and Roman 
ladies; in Turkey, it is blue or violet; in 
Egypt, yellow; in Ethiopia, brown; and kings 
and cardinals mourn in purple. Every nation 
gave a particular reason for the particular col¬ 
or they assumed in mourning. Black, which 
is the privation of light, indicates the priva¬ 
tion of life, and white is an emblem of the 
purity of the spirit separated from the body ; 
yellow, is to represent that death is the end 
of all o'ir earthly hopes, because this is the 
color of leaves when they fall, and flowers 


25 


when they fade; brown, denotes the earth to 
which the dead return; blue is an emblem of 
happiness, which it is hoped the deceased en¬ 
joys ; and purple or violet expresses a mixture 
of sorrow and hope. 

There were various ways among the an¬ 
cients of mourning. The monarch laid aside 
his robe and crown, and various insignia of 
royalty; the people rent their clothes, beat 
upon their breasts, wore sackcloth, and sat in 
ashes. A public mourning was sometimes 
celebrated by a general fast; and when such 
an event took place at Rome, all the shops 
were closed, the senators laid aside their lati- 
clavian robes, the consuls sat in a lower seat 
than usual, and the women put aside all their 
ornaments. There was a remarkable practice 
among the ancient soldiers of mourning for 
their fellows: the whole army attended the 
funeral solemnities with their arms turned up¬ 
side down. An Irish funeral is of all funerals 
one of the most singular. It is the highest 
point of ambition among the children of the 
“Emerald Isle” that they may have an “aisy 
death and a fine funeral.” They deny them¬ 
selves innumerable comforts in life, in order 
that they may enjoy themselves after death : 
their shroud and burial-dress are frequently in 
readiness for them several years before they 
are required, and the headstone for the grave 
frequently may be seen ready in the cottage, 
and the Irishman gazes upon it with ecstatic 
rapture when he remembers how nice and neat 
it will look when it marks his burial-place. 
There are no people who seem to look forward 
to death with so little dread as the Irish ; they 
look upon the day of their death as a grand 
gala-day, and it is the great object of their 
lives to make all possible provision for it. 
The funeral-procession in Ireland always bears 
more resemblance to an electioneering cere¬ 
mony. The Irish funeral-howl is notorious ; 
and although this vehement vociferous expres¬ 
sion is on the decline, there are still a race of 
women, called “Keeners,” or mourners by 
profession. A late traveller has been curious 
to obtain information relating to them, and de¬ 
scribes some of them as very extraordinary 
characters, having memories exceedingly pow¬ 
erful, voices singularly harmonious and strong, 
and an intellect by no means weak. 

In Spain, a widow passed the first year of 
her mourning in a chamber hung with black, 
into which daylight was never allowed to en¬ 
ter. When this lugubrious year was ended, 
she changed it for one hung with gray, into 
which she sometimes admitted an intrusive 
sunbeam ; but in neither chamber did custom 
allow her a looking-glass, nor anything but 
actual necessaries. This victim to custom 
was immediately released if she obtained an¬ 
other husband. In some parts of Africa, the 









BURIAL-PLACES AND FUNERAL RITES. 


26 


k 



husband is no sooner dead, than liis wives, 
concubines, servants, and horses, are strangled, 
under the impression that they will render him 
the same services in a future life which they 
rendered him in his past. In Darien, when a 
widow dies, such of her children as are too 
young to provide for themselves, are buried 
with her in the same grave. At the cape of 
Good Hope, in order that widows may not 
impose themselves on men as virgins, they are 
obliged to cut off a finger for every husband 
that dies. Some of the American Indians lay 
their dead bodies upon scaffolds, where they 
erect seats for the mourners, who go every 
day and sit for a considerable time and howl 
for them; but if they can not howl themselves, 
they hire persons to howl in their stead. He¬ 
rodotus mentions, that among the ancient 
Cretonians (a people of Thrace), widows, as¬ 
sisted by their relatives, made interest who 
should be preferred to the honor of being killed 
on the grave of their dead husband. Some 
ancient nations dressed themselves as women 
when they lost their relatives, in order, it is 
related, that the ridicule attached to their 
vestments might make them ashamed of their 
grief. The Abyssinians mourn for their dead 
many days, beginning their lamentations with 
the morning and continuing them till night, 
when the nearest relatives and friends of the 
deceased assembled at the grave, together with 


several hired female mourner's, who join the 
solemnity with shrieks, also clapping their 
hands, smiting their breasts, and uttering the 
most doleful expressions of grief. When a 
person of ordinary rank dies at Guinea, his 
friends and neighbors set up a loud cry round 
the corpse, carrying it into the open air, and 
asking it the cause of its death, and whether 
it perished through the want of food or not, 
or from the effects of necromancy. 

The origin of embalming seems to us to be 
mysterious; it undoubtedly originated in a 
wish to preserve the objects of affection and 
love; and there can be little doubt that the 
Egyptians were the first who practised the art. 
It lias generally been considered the highest 
point of internal civilization, and to be met 
with only among those people on whom the 
light of science had been poured ; but, strange 
to say, the custom has been found prevalent 
in the islands of the Southern ocean, and that 
too with many of the attendant circumstances 
which marked the Egyptian embalmments. 
The customs prevailing at Tahiti, on the death 
of a person of distinction, are in the highest 
degree appalling: the fearful manner in which 
the natives cut themselves with knives excites 
horror in the mind ; their superstitious mode 
of burying the sins of the dead are subjects of 
deep and fearful interest alike in the annals 
of man’s external history, and the memorials 


































Tombs of the Kings of Golconda. 






























































































BURIAL-PLACES AND FUNERAL RITES. 


28 



Embalming. —The Processes of Bandaging and Painting an embalmed Body : designed from the ancient 

Egyptian Monuments. 


of liis mental imbecility. The Peruvians, it 
seems, had an effectual method of preserving 
the bodies of their incas or kings ; their main 
secret is supposed to have been the burying 
them in snow, and afterward applying a cer¬ 
tain bitumen, which kept them as entire as if 
still alive. The Jews (as we are told by Cam- 
\ den), the Assyrians, and the Scythians, had 
all different ways of preserving their dead; 
but the most extraordinary method is that 
adopted in the monastery of St. Bernard. It 
is the custom of that fraternity to preserve the 
dead bodies of their monks, and afterward 
place them erect in niches along the walls. 
This is effected by baking them in a very slow 
oven contrived for the purpose, and they will 
remain thus preserved for centuries without 
changing, or becoming in the least offensive. 
They are dressed in their hoods and cloaks. 

The word Mausoleum originates from Mau- 
solus, a king or Caria, to whom a sumptuous 
sepulchre was raised* by his wife Artemesia. 
King Mausolus is said to have expired in the 
year 353 B. C.; and his wife was so disconso¬ 
late at the event, that she drank his ashes, and 
perpetuated his memory by the erection of 
this monument, which became so famous as to 
be esteemed the seventh wonder of the world, 
and to give a generic name to all sepulchres. 
The mausoleum of the Taaje Mahal stands in 
the neighborhood of the city of Agra, and as a 
mausoleum it has not its equal in the world. 
It is described as the realization of a fairy 
temple, personifying all the beamy dreamings 
of Arabian enchantment. It stands in the 
midst of the desert, where rudeness and deso¬ 
lation reign: the gate leading to it, is a build¬ 
ing which in any other place the traveller 


would stay to gaze on and admire, but scenes 
beyond attract his notice. The entrance is a 
palace of deep red stone inlaid with white 
marble. Oriental architecture has here lav¬ 
ished all its powers, especially in the domed 
room, the circular hall, and the wide-stretch¬ 
ing gallery. The place of actual sepulture is 
of a chaste and matchless beauty; around it on 
three sides are suites of apartments, consisting 
of three rooms in each, all of white marble, 
having lattices of perforated marble for the 
free transmission of air, and opening to the 
garden; the window-frames are of marble; 
and altogether this superb piece of art im¬ 
presses the mind of the beholder with an over¬ 
whelming feeling of amaze that such a build¬ 
ing should be a monument to death. 

***** * * 

Golconda, near which are the tombs repre¬ 
sented in one of our engravings, is a fortress 
of Hindostan, formerly the capital of the prov¬ 
ince of the same name. It is the residence of 
the kings. This fortress, for extent, might be 
called a city, in the middle of which rises a 
hill like a sugar-loaf. It is esteemed by her 
natives impregnable, but is extremely hot and 
unhealthy. It is now the repository of the 
wealth of the Nizam. The principal mineral 
production of this country is that most inval¬ 
uable of gems, the diamond. It is generally 
found in the narrow crevices of the rocks, 
loose, and never adherent to the strong strat¬ 
um. The miners, with long iron rods, which 
have hooks at the end, pick out the contents 
of the fissures, and wash them in tubs, in or¬ 
der to discover the diamonds. Hindostan is 
famous for its diamond-mines. In Calour, 
near Golconda, they dig in a large plain to the 

























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































BURIAL-PLACES AND FUNERAL RITES. 


30 


depth of ten or fourteen feet: forty thousand 
persons are employed, the men to dig, and the 
women and children to carry the earth to the 
places in which it is to be deposited before the 
search is made. Diamonds are also found in 
the gravel or sand of rivers, washed out of 
their beds and carried down with the stream. 
The river Gonel, near Sumbulpour, is the 
most noted for them. Many other precious 
stones are found in this country. 

Beautiful, indeed, are the environs of Gol- 
conda, adorned with the tombs of her former 
rulers! Mamiificent mausoleums of marble 

o 

and gold—marble wrought with the finest chis¬ 
elling—woodwork where the delicate tracery 
of the carver is covered over with rich gold, 
so that the whole seems as if wrought in the 
priceless gold-mines of the world ! The ar¬ 
chitecture of these noble monuments of former 
times, although neither Ionic, Gothic, nor Co¬ 
rinthian, is at once impressive and effective. 
In fact, all the monuments of the Hindoos 
seem calculated to inspire the beholder with 
awe and admiration. While the domes of 
their buildings do not compare in symmetry 
and geometrical accuracy of measurement with 
the far-famed dome of St. Peter’s, yet the eye 
of the beholder is dazzled, and, after gazing 
in mute admiration upon them for hours, he 
turns away dissatisfied, only to look back 
again. 

There are many tombs near Golconda;— 
twelve of these, however, are lofty and sub¬ 
lime in appearance ; and when their domes are 
gilded by the rays of the setting sun, and the 
scene is rendered lifelike by the presence of a 
caravan of camels, loaded with the rich treas¬ 
ures of the eastern world—men dressed in gay 
costume, or resplendent with the glitter of 
burnished armor—truly may we say, “ Gol¬ 
conda ! thy diamonds glitter in the mines; 
hut even on the surface are gems of priceless 
value /” 

When the reader looks upon the tomb of 
Hyder Ali, the splendid pile of building will 
remind him of one of the most remarkable 
men, for such he really was. Its occupant 
rose from a situation of the most absolute ob¬ 
scurity ; and gradually passing, as by an in¬ 
clined plane, to the command of the army, he 
deposed the rajah Nunjerej, and was chosen 
to govern the destinies of India. Hyder Ali 
died at the advanced age of eighty. 

The engraving represents the superb place 
of sepulture in which both Hyder Ali and his 
son, Tippoo Saib, are deposited. To attempt 
a description of this illustrious mausoleum, 
would, indeed, be preposterous. The best de¬ 
scription is that afforded by a view of the en¬ 
graving; but all, all is faint, save the vast 
original. 

Morai is the name given at Otaheite, in the 


South-sea islands, to the large burial-grounds, 
which were formerly places of public worship. 
One of their most sacred places consisted of a 
pile of stone raised pyramidically upon an ob¬ 
long base. On each side was a flight of steps ; 
those at the sides being broader than those at 
the ends, so that it terminated, not in a square 
of the same figure with the base, but in a 
ridge, like the roof of a house. There were 
eleven of these steps to one of these morais, 
each of which was four feet high ; so the 
height of the pile was forty-four feet. Each 
step was formed of one course of white coral 
stone, which was neatly squared and polished. 
The rest of the mass—for there was no hollow 
within—consisted of rounded pebbles, which, 
from the regularity of their figure, seemed 
to have been wrought. The foundation was 
of rock-stones, which were also squared. In 
the middle of the top stood the figure of a bird 
carved in wood, and near it lay the broken 
one of a fish carved in stone. The whole of 
this pyramid made part of one side of a spa¬ 
cious area or square, three hundred and sixty 
feet by three hundred and fifty-four, which 
was walled in with stone, and paved with flat 
stones its whole extent. About a hundred 
yards from this building was another paved 
area or court, in which were several small 
stages raised on wooden pillars, about seven 
feet high, called by the Indians ewattas. 

To stand round an open grave in a country 
churchyard; to hear the dust rattle on the 
coffin-lid; the deep, stifled sob, the roll of the 
muffled bell, and the deep voice of the stoled 
priest—all these give solemnity to the im¬ 
pressive service. But a burial by land is not 
so solemn as a burial by sea. There is some¬ 
thing in that event peculiarly impressive : the 
winds whistling through the flapping shrouds 
above, and the solemn voice of the waves 
dashing against the vessel beneath,—these 
make the music of the service, and ring the 
dirge and the requiem over the departed. In 
the former case, the dead one is laid to rest 
with his fathers, in conformity with the usages 
of society, beneath the green turf, perhaps in 
the quiet valley where lie first breathed life’s 
breath : at any rate, in the land of his birth— 
his own country. But in the latter, there is 
no green mountain swelling in the distance, 
no sloping valley nor church-turret; but all 
along the horizon swells one vast waste of 
waters, and as far as the eye can reach it 
glances over the blue and bounding waves. 
And no fringed pall is there : the national ban¬ 
ner circles his form for a winding-sheet, and 
his last bed is his coffin. And who shall stand 
and gaze on the scene, and say that sailors 
have not the hearts of other men, when around 
the simple burial ? You may see the forms 
of men marked with the scars of honorable 








Moraii of Owhyee. 










































































































































































































































































BLANKETS. 


32 


war, and many a one raising liis coat to wipe 
away the tear that can not be suppressed. 
And where should be the sailor’s grave, but 
beneath those billows over which he so tri¬ 
umphantly rode ? His career was unchained 
—so let his grave be ! He goes down to a 
“ depth which no plummet, save God’s omni¬ 
presence, has ever fathomed and if loath¬ 
some things creep over him, will he heed their 
assaults, secure in his last repose ? And may 
we not then echo the question of the poet 
Howitt—“ Will he rise less joyfully when the 
last trumpet rings over the waters, than those 
who laid them down in the ornamented cem¬ 
etery ?” We trow not. 

But one of the most interestingly solemn 
scenes in which we can wander is a village 
churchyard. Indeed, our readers know that 
the poet’s harp rung in solemn strains amid 
its simple tombs. Our poets have dwelt in 
pensive, beautiful melancholy, reflecting on its 
scenes—the once-busy and agitated hearts 
which lie beneath the sod, and the balmy 
tranquillity—emblem of a deeper repose— 
which Nature flings over the spot. And a 
burial-place is, of all others, the most soothing. 
That is a fine expression in the book of Job— 
“ there the wicked cease from troubling, and 
the weary are at rest.” It is a beautiful 
thought: their hearts so still, so tranquil, were 
agitated as much as ours; their heads were 
the seats of thought; their arms and legs were 
once active; their eyes could once drink in 
the beauties of nature’s scenery ; their hearts 
were susceptible of the same emotions as ours: 
they stood perhaps in this very churchyard, 
and felt, as they looked on surrounding graves, 
the same emotions which we feel! A few 
years, and another generation will stand in the 
churchyard, and we shall be in our graves. 
And when our minds revert to burials, to mon¬ 
uments, and to burial-customs, by what va¬ 
riety are we surrounded! The lonely mound, 
the stranger’s grave, where no daisy blooms, 
no cypress hangs, no mourner weeps; the neat 
sepulchral stone, with the trimmed grass, and 
perchance a flower showing its mild beauty 
on the brow of death. Then the monumental 
pile, the flattering epitaph, the entablature of 
ancestral birth and daring deeds. Can we go 
further than this ? Oh, yes: the proud mau¬ 
soleum, more like a palace than a place of 
bones ; where the Parian marble gleams in its 
whiteness, and the sculptor’s noble effigies 
seem almost to breathe in stone ; but of the 
slumberers beneath it may be said— 

" The storm which wrecks our wintry sky 
No more disturbs their deep repose 
Than summer evening’s latest sigh, 

When shuts the rose.” 

There are some spectacles in the world from 
which one shrinks back with horror, while oth¬ 


er circumstances would only create in our 
minds a feeling of complacent delight. Such a 
spectacle is the crowded metropolitan church¬ 
yard. The feelings it excites are truly inde¬ 
scribable. The crowded seat of pestilence and 
death, the torturing memento of the miseries 
of life, with no whisper of the repose which is 
beyond ; oh ! one shrinks from burial in such 
a town, more than from death itself. But a 
village churchyard—and often have we leaned 
over its gravestones, and sighed to think that 
we were not as those beneath us—there is 
nothing so sweet as a country churchyard. By 
moonlight the beams rest on the neat graves 
and fall on the tombstones, like faith conquer¬ 
ing doubt; and ever and anon, as some fitful 
breeze sweeps by, making sad melody, the 
voices of the dead seem to speak in each hol¬ 
low gust: while, round the old gray church- 
tower, standing secure in its hoary solitude, 
their spirits seem to walk, “breathing fresh 
beauty amid the gloom of graves.” 


BLANKETS, 

How the casements rattle ! and hark, how 
the bitter, biting blast whistles among the 
trees ! It’s very cold, and soon it will be cold¬ 
er. We could shiver at the thought of win¬ 
ter, when the icicles hang from the water-butt, 
when the snow lies deep upon the ground ; 
and the cold, cold wind seems to freeze the 
heart as well as the finger-ends. 

Yet, after all, the darkest night, the bitter¬ 
est blast, and the rudest storm, confer some 
benefit, for they make us thankful for the roof 
that covers us, the fire that warms us, and for 
the grateful influence of a comfortable bed. 

Oh, the luxury of a good, thick, warm pair 
of blankets, when the wintry blast roars in 
the chimney, while the feathery flakes of snow 
are flying abroad, and the sharp hail patters 
against the window-panes ! 

Did you ever travel a hundred miles on the 
outside of a coach, on a sharp frosty night; 
your eyes stiffened, your face smarting, and 
your body half petrified ? Did you ever keep 
watch in December in the open air, till the 
more than midnight blast had pinched all your 
features into sharpness; till your feet were 
cold as a stone, and the very stars appeared 
as if frozen to the sky ? If you have never 
borne these things, we have; but what are 
they compared with the trials that some peo¬ 
ple have to endure ? 

Who can tell the sufferings of thousands of 
poor people in winter, from the want of warm 
bed-clothes! and who can describe the com¬ 
fort that a pair or two of blankets communi- 









1-——-—-—---—- 

CHRISTMAS IN GERMANY. 33 


cate to a destitute family ! How often liave 
we seen the wretched children of a wretched 
habitation, huddling together on the floor, be¬ 
neath a ragged great-coat, or flimsy petticoat, 
striving to derive that warmth from each 
other which their scanty covering failed to 
supply. 

In many places, benevolent persons give or 
lend blankets to the poor, and thus confer a 
benefit, the value of which can hardly be 
told. May they be abundantly repaid by the 
grace of that Savior who said, when speak¬ 
ing of kindnesses done to his disciples: “ Inas¬ 
much as ye have done it unto one of the least 
of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto 
me.” 

Think of these things now, for it will be of 
no use to reflect on them in summer. Chari¬ 
ty is never so cordial as when she feels the 
misery she relieves : while you feel the cold, 
then, do something to protect others from the 
inclemency of the season. It is enough to be 
ill-fed, and. ill-clothed, and to sit bending over 
a dying fire without a handful of fuel to revive 
it; but after that to pass the night without a 
blanket for a covering, must indeed be terrible. 

See, in the sharpest night the poor old man, 
over whose head threescore and ten winters 
have rolled, climbing with difficulty his nar¬ 
row staircase, to creep beneath his thin and 
ragged coverlet. See the aged widow, once 
lulled in the lap of luxury, but now worn by 
poverty to the very bones, stretching her 
cramped limbs upon her bundle of straw. 
Fancy!—but why fancy what you know to 
be true—these poor, aged, miserable beings 
having to shiver through the livelong night, 
when a blanket would gird them round with 
comfort. We could weep at such miseries as 
these—miseries which so small an effort might 
relieve. The table-crumbs of the rich would 
make a banquet for the poor, and the spare 
remnants of their clothing would defend them 
from the cold. 

Come, come, reader! you are not without 
some feeling of pity and affection for your fel¬ 
low-creatures. Be not satisfied in wishing 
them well; let something be done for their 
welfare. 

If there be a heart within you, if you have 
a soul that ever offered up an expression of 
thanksgiving for the manifold mercies which 
your heavenly Father has bestow'ed upon 
you, then sympathize with the wretched, and 
relieve, according to your ability, the wants 
of the destitute. Let me beseech you to do 
something this very winter toward enabling 
some poor, aged, helpless, or friendless person, 
who is slenderly provided for, to purchase a 
blanket. You will not sleep the less com¬ 
fortably, when you reflect that some shivering 
wretch has been, by your assistance, enabled 


to pass the wintry night in comfort. It is not 
a great thing that is required ; do what you 
can, but do something. Let us not plead in 
vain; and shame betide us, if we neglect to 
do, ourselves, the thing that we recommend 
to you to perform. 

Did you ever lie snug and warm, in bleak 
December, the bedclothes drawn close round 
your neck, and your nightcap pulled over your 
ears, listening to the midnight blast, and ex¬ 
ulting in the grateful glow of your delightful 
snuggery ? We know you have, and we 
trust, too, that the very reading of these re¬ 
marks will affect your hearts, and dispose you 
to some gentle deed of charity toward those 
who are destitute of such an enjoyment. 

Now, then, while the subject is before you, 
while you look round on your manifold com¬ 
forts, while you feel the nipping and frosty 
air, resolve, ay, and act, in a way that will 
bless others, and give comfort to your own 
heart. 

Youth and health may rejoice in frost and 
snow, and while the warm blood rushes 
through the exulting frame, we can smile at 
the wintry blast; but age, sickness, and in¬ 
firmity, can take no exercise sufficient to 
quicken the sluggish current of their veins. 
Wrap them round, then, with your charity, 
help them to obtain a pair of warm blankets, 
and the blessing of the widow and the father¬ 
less, the aged and infirm, the destitute, and 
those ready to perish, shall rest upon you. 


CHRISTMAS IN GERMANY. 

In Germany, the custom extensively pre¬ 
vails, of placing, at Christmas, a small ever¬ 
green tree in every house, and after covering 
its branches with various presents intended for 
the children, to suspend numerous little jumps 
or tapers to all parts of it, and late in the 
evening, to exhibit it to the assembled family. 
As the presents are marked with the names 
of the donors as well as those for whom they 
are intended, the occasion excites much in¬ 
terest ; and it will be found that Germans gen¬ 
erally cherish the recollection of the annual 
festival with lively pleasure. It is not un¬ 
common to find instances in which this custom 
has been observed in this country, either by 
Germans or by their imitators. The tree 
usually chosen being the silver fir, which is 
remarkable for the great number and uniform¬ 
ity of its twigs and branches, the sight is often 
striking and beautiful. The gay and varied 
colors of the little gifts strongly illuminated 
by the blazing lamps, and relieved by the 
dark foliage of the evergreen, have quite a 


3 




























Luther and his Family with their Christmas Tree. 
































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































CUSTOMHOUSE, PHILADELPHIA. 


rich and dazzling effect; and the feelings of 
generosity and gratitude shared by the mem¬ 
bers of a happy family circle, are such as 
must render the scene doubly agreeable. Of 
the date or origin of the custom, we are not 
infdrmed : but while we refer it to those pe¬ 
riods when religious occasions were first con¬ 
nected with observances with few or no traces 
of their Christian associations, we admit that 
this is one of the most harmless kind. It 
would indeed have been better if those who 
thought it a duty to commemorate Christmas 
had adopted some mode adapted to direct the 
mind to the character, doctrines, or objects of 
the Savior: but we can not look upon the 
picture we have given, and see Luther with 
his family, with a Christmas-tree blazing be¬ 
fore them, without some impressive recollec¬ 
tion of him and the peculiar period in which 
he lived. 


CUSTOMHOUSE, PHILADELPHIA. 

FORMERLY UNITED STATES BANK. 

This is one of those chaste and beautiful 
buildings which have given the public archi¬ 
tecture of Philadelphia a superiority over 
that of every other city of our country. It 
needs but that its fair marble should be 
weather-fretted and stained, to express per¬ 
fectly to the eye the model of one of the 
most graceful temples of antiquity. The se¬ 
vere simplicity of taste which breathes through 
this Greek model, however, is not adapted to 
private buildings; and in a certain kind of 
simplicity, or rather want of ornament, lies 
the fault found by every eye in the domestic 
architecture of this city. The chess-board 
regularity of the streets, so embarrassing to a 
stranger, as well as tiresome to the gaze, re¬ 
quire a more varied, if not a more ornate style. 
The hundreds of houses that resemble each 
other in every distinguishable particular, oc¬ 
casion a bewilderment and fatigue to the un¬ 
accustomed eye, which a citizen of Philadel¬ 
phia can scarcely comprehend. 

The uniformity and plainness which Wil¬ 
liam Penn has bequeathed in such an abiding 
legacy to Philadelphia, however, is seen but 
by a faint penumbra in the dress of the in¬ 
habitants, or in their equipages, style of liv¬ 
ing, and costliness of furniture and entertain¬ 
ment. A faint shadow of original simplicity 
there still certainly exists, visible through all 
the departures from the spirit of Quakerism; 
and it is a leaven of taste and elegance in the 
ferment of luxury which has given Philadel¬ 


35 


phia emphatically a character for refinement. 
A more delightful temper and tone of society, 
a more enjoyable state of the exercise and 
mode of hospitality, or a more comfortable 
metropolis to live m, certainly does not exist 
this side the water. A European would pre¬ 
fer Philadelphia to every other residence in 
the United States. 

Everybody has heard of the celebrated but 
unfortunate United States bank, from its con¬ 
nexion with the government, as its former fis¬ 
cal agent. At the time of its dissolution it 
was operating uiader a charter from the state 
government, under the title of “ The United 
States Bank of Pennsylvania,” with a capital 
of $30,000,000. Its original capital was 
$35,000,000, which was distributed between 
the parent bank and nineteen branches. 

The corner-stone was laid in April, 1819, 
and the whole was finished near the close of 
1824. The cost of the ground was $155,628 
—of the structure itself, $257,452—making 
an aggregate of $413,081 ; an expense which 
may be regarded as very moderate, when we 
consider the great mass of materials which it 
contains; there being not less than 41,500 
cubic feet of marble in the porticoes and walls 
—about three millions of bricks, three thou¬ 
sand perches of building-stone, and seventeen 
and a half tons of copper on the roof. 

In choosing the situation of such a building, 
its centrality and its convenience for business 
were of course more important considerations 
than picturesque effect; and the lot—a paral¬ 
lelogram of 152 feet by 225—is, on that ac¬ 
count, more circumscribed than would be de¬ 
sirable. This defect was to be obviated by 
placing the structure as far as possible from 
the street—by insulating it entirely—by inter¬ 
posing nothing between the spectator and the 
building—and by raising the foundation so as 
to acquire for the whole an artificial elevation, 
which to the eye would produce the effect of 
distance. Accordingly, in the centre of the 
ground is constructed a terrace, 3 feet high, 
119 feet in front, and 225 in depth, serving as 
the foundation from which, at the distance of 
16 feet from its front and flank edges, the 
building rises. It occupies 87 feet in front, 
and 187 feet in depth, including the steps, or 
161 feet excluding them. On reaching the 
terrace, which, in order to preserve its form 
entire, is done by steps in the rear of the gate¬ 
ways, the building is approached by a flight 
of steps along the whole front—13 in number, 
and occupying 13 feet in depth. These lead 
to the portico, which has a basement of 10 
feet 6 inches in width, on which stand eight 
Grecian Doric columns, 4 feet 6 inches in 
diameter, 27 feet in height—fluted, and with¬ 
out bases, and supporting a simple entablature 
and a pediment, which, like the roof, has just 










CUSTOMHOUSE, PHILADELPHIA. 


3(3 


that degree of elevation necessary to carry off 
the water—the vertical angle being 153 de¬ 
grees. Behind the columns, and at the due 
distance from them—the width between the 
two columns at the end of the portico—is the 
wall of the building. The door opens upon 
a vestibule of 30 feet by 18 in width, the ceil¬ 
ing of which is richly worked, and the pave¬ 
ment tesselated with American and Italian 
marble. 

The structure is copied after that of the 
Parthenon at Athens—the colonnades on the 
sides, and certain other merely decorative 
parts of the original being dispensed with in 
the copy, on account of the size and structure 
of the lot upon which it is erected. The ex¬ 
terior is of the Doric style, from the richest 
materials of American and Italian marble. 

The large banking-room is situated in the 
centre of the building, and extends 48 feet in 
breadth, and 81 in length. Through the 
whole of this length, on each side, at the dis¬ 
tance of ten feet from the walls, is a range of 
six fluted Ionic columns, twenty-two inches 
in diameter, The entire building is justly re¬ 
garded as one of the finest specimens of Gre¬ 
cian architecture in the country. The inte¬ 
rior is vaulted throughout, and arched, so as 
to be entirely fire-proof, and the roof is cop¬ 
pered. 

The rooms are warmed by a furnace below, 
the heat from which diffuses an equal temper¬ 
ature throughout its whole extent, while in 
summer the massiveness of the structure pre¬ 
serves its coolness. 

From this sketch may be gathered the de¬ 
gree of its resemblance to the ancient temples, 
and especially to the Parthenon, from which 
some of its proportions are taken. In its gen¬ 
eral dimensions it is much larger than the 
Temple of Theseus at Athens, and smaller 
than the Parthenon. Their respective pro¬ 
portions are these:— 

Front, Length, 

excluding steps. excluding steps. 


Temple of Theseus, 45 ft. 2 in. 
Parthenon, 101 ft. 1 in. 

U. S. Bank, 87 ft. 


104 ft. 2 in. 
227 ft. 7 in. 
161 ft., 


making the Parthenon 14 feet 1 inch wider, 
and 66 feet 7 inches longer than the bank; 
but as the Temple of Theseus has only two 
steps, and the Parthenon only three, while 
the bank has 13, extending 13 feet on each 
front, the length of the buildings, respectively, 
including the steps, would be considerably va¬ 
ried, the length of the bank from the outer 
step being 187 feet, that of the Parthenon, 
236 feet 9 inches. The comparison may be 
best illustrated by the fact that the Parthe¬ 
non, with its steps, covers an extent of ground 
nearly, but not quite equal, to the area of the 
terrace of the bank. 


As, however, the double row of columns in 
the portico and the flanking colonnade required 
so much space, the actual dimensions of the 
interior of the two buildings are much more 
nearly equal than these proportions would in¬ 
dicate. Thus : the enclosed part of the Par¬ 
thenon was in width 70 feet 6 inches ; in 
length, 158 feet 7 inches; and the whole area 
of the enclosure was therefore 11,181 feet; 
while the enclosure of the bank is in width 
87 feet; in length, 141 feet; making an area 
of 12,267 feet, or, 1,806 feet more than that 
of the Parthenon. 

The interior of the Parthenon, after de¬ 
ducting the pronaos and posticum at the two 
ends, occupying 12 feet each, was divided in¬ 
to two rooms, the treasury or opisthodomos, 
of 62 feet by 42 feet 10 inches, and the great 
central hall, the scene of all the exhibitions, 
which was 98 feet seven inches by 42 feet 10 
inches, while the banking-room is 48 feet by 
81, giving an area very nearly equal. 

The principal differences between the two 
buildings are these. The Parthenon had a 
colonnade on the flanks, which here is want¬ 
ing. This beautiful ornament was omitted for 
the reason already stated ; and we may recon¬ 
cile ourselves to the loss of it, bv the reflec- 
tion, that in a building destined to receive its 
light from the side, it might have too much 
overshadowed the scene of business. The 
Parthenon has been regarded as what is 
technically called hypcethral—that is, having 
its roof open in the centre, as would be the 
middle aisle of a modern church. Recent 
observations by detecting something of the 
later ages in the columns of the interior, have 
excited doubts as to this fact, which the pres¬ 
ent dilapidation of the building will for ever 
render inexplicable—but the probability is, 
that the light of the Parthenon came from the 
roof, not from the sides—and the flanking col¬ 
onnade would, on that account, present no in¬ 
convenience. 

The Bank of the United States, previous 
to the erection of the present edifice, occupied 
the building which it owned on South Third 
street, and which was purchased by Stephen 
Girard, and occupied as his banking-house un¬ 
til his death. That building was erected in 
1795. The portico is of Pennsylvania mar¬ 
ble, but the rest of the building is brick. 
The entrance is capacious and beautifully or¬ 
namented with splendid fluted columns, and 
caps of the Corinthian order. It is at present 
occupied by the Girard Banking Company. 

Is it possible to realize, that, on the site of 
the refined city of Philadelphia, only one hun¬ 
dred and fifty years ago, lived a people in such 
strong contrast to the above (save only in hos¬ 
pitality), as are described by William Penn, 
in the following terms !— 





















Custom House, Philadelphia, (formerly the United States Bank.) 






































































































































































































































































































































































38 THE HEAD AND THE HEART. 


“ The natives I shall consider in their per¬ 
sons, language, manners, religion, and govern¬ 
ment, with my sense of their original. For 
their persons, they are generally tall, straight, 
well-built, and of singular proportion; they 
tread strong and clever, and mostly walk with 
a lofty chin. Of complexion, black, but by 
design, as the gypsies in England : they grease 
themselves with bear’s fat, clarified ; and using 
no defence against sun or weather, their skins 
must needs he swarthy. Their eye is little 
and black, not unlike a straight-looked Jew. 
The thick lip and flat nose, so frequent with 
the East Indians and blacks, are not com¬ 
mon to them; many of them have fine Roman 
noses. 

“ Their language is lofty, yet narrow; but 
like the Hebrew, in signification full. Like 
short-hand in writing, one word serveth in 
the place of three, and the rest are supplied 
by the understanding of the hearer; imper¬ 
fect in their tenses, wanting in their moods, 
participles, adverbs, conjunctions, and inter¬ 
jections. 

“Of their customs and manners there is 
much to be said: I will begin with children. 
So soon as they are born, they wash them in 
water; and while very young, and in cold 
weather, they plunge them in the rivers, to 
harden and embolden them. The children 
will walk very young—at nine months, com¬ 
monly : if boys, they go a fishing till ripe for 
the woods, which is about fifteen; then they 
hunt, and after having given some proofs of 
their manhood by a good return of skins, they 
may marry; else it is a shame to think of a 
wife. The girls stay with their mothers, and 
help to hoe the ground, plant com, and carry 
burdens : and they do well to use them to that 
young, which they must do when they are 
old ; for the wives are the true servants of the 
husbands, otherwise the men are very affec¬ 
tionate to them. 

“ When the young women are fit for mar¬ 
riage, they wear something upon their heads 
for an advertisement, but so as their faces are 
hardly to be seen but when they please. The 
age they marry at, if women, is about thirteen 
and fourteen ; if men, seventeen and eighteen ; 
they are rarely older. 

“ Their houses are mats, or barks of trees, 
set on poles, in the fashion of an English barn, 
but out of the power of the winds, for they 
are hardly higher than a man : they lie on 
reeds, or grass. In travel, they lodge in the 
woods, about a great fire, with the mantle of 
duffils they wear by day wrapped about them, 
and a few boughs stuck round them. 

“ Their diet is maize, or Indian corn, divers 
ways prepared; sometimes roasted in the 
ashes ; sometimes beaten and boiled with wa¬ 
ter, which they call hommony ; they also make 


cakes not unpleasant to eat. They have like¬ 
wise several sorts of beans and peas that are 
good nourishment; and the woods and rivers 
are their larder.” 


THE HEAD AND THE HEART. 

The first thing we do with children is, to 
develop their intellects. Let a boy say a 
sharp thing, let him show quickness, and we 
dream about him, and talk of him as a genius, 
and parent and teacher are delighted. You 
hear them say : “ How promising—how ad¬ 
vanced—that lad will make a man—we shall 
hear of him yet.” 

And do you hear of him ? Are these very 
promising children the men of action ? Do 
they fulfil, generally, any one promise they 
excite? We think not. And simply because 
we begin wrong with them, and so beginning, 
they end poorly. For the child sensation and 
emotion are everything; not reason; not re¬ 
flection ; task the intellect, and you cripple 
him for life ; cultivate it chiefly or alone, and 
you break him down ere he reaches manhood ; 
but quicken his senses, touch his heart , as 
you tell him of great men, of good deeds, of 
human endeavors, of starry skies, and the 
storms that sweep over them, green fields, and 
the humblest flower that takes root in them, 
and you will do more for him—more to give 
him character—in an hour’s talk, or a day’s 
ramble in the woods and fields, than in years 
of forced effort, or strained intellectual culti¬ 
vation. 

For the first ten years of life, the child 
wants physical developments and heart- cul¬ 
ture. No metaphysics are needed to explain 
goodness. The very infant knows that at 
sight. No exertion of intellect is required to 
explain kindness. The veriest child under¬ 
stands that by instinct. By this goodness and 
kindness, then, we should lead the young on 
and up, and then prepare the way for harder 
effort and serious intellectual exertion. But 
these should never be anticipated; no growing 
child should be forced to reason, to study, to 
overload the memory with tough logic, over¬ 
task the brain with tougher abstractions; all 
that we should look, labor, or long for, is a 
full, fine physical development, buoyancy of 
spirit, and a heart joyous as the spring-time, 
with sensations keenly alive to every gentle 
or generous appeal, and emotions quick to an¬ 
swer the call or command of goodness, as the 
truest basis of sure future development, and a 
constant, ever-growing moral and intellectual 
power. 












EXTENT OF THE 


Parents may think we talk at random. If 
so, we would urge them and teachers to pon¬ 
der well the following remarks, penned by one 
whose life-study has been the education of the 
young:— 

“ The first eight or ten years of life should 
be devoted to the education of the heart—to 
the formation of principles—rather than the 
acquirement of what is usually termed knowl¬ 
edge. N ature herself points out such a course; 
for the emotions are then the liveliest and most 
easily moulded, being as yet unalloyed by pas¬ 
sion. It is from the source that the mass of 
men are hereafter to draw their sum of hap¬ 
piness or misery; the actions of the immense 
majority are, under all circumstances, deter¬ 
mined much more by feeling than reflection; 
in truth, life presents an infinity of occasions 
where it is essential to happiness that we 
should feel rightly : very few where it is at 
all necessary that we should think profound¬ 
ly* 

“ Up to the seventh year of life, very great 
changes are going on in the structure of the 
brain, and demand, therefore, the utmost at¬ 
tention not to interrupt them by improper or 
over-excitement. Just that degree of exercise 
should be given to the brain at this period as 
is necessary to its health, and the best is oral 
instruction, exemplified by objects which strike 
the senses. 

“ It is perhaps unnecessary to add that, at 
this period of life, special attention should be 
given, both by parents and teachers, to the 
physical development of the child. Pure air 
and free exercise are indispensable, and when¬ 
ever either of them is withheld, the conse¬ 
quences will be certain to extend themselves 
over the whole life. The seeds of protracted 
and hopeless suffering have, in innumerable 
instances, been sown in the constitution of the 
child simply through ignorance of this great 
fundamental physical law ; and the time has 
come when the united voices of these innocent 
victims should ascend, ‘ trumpet-tongued,’ to 
the ears of every parent and every teacher in 
the land—‘ Give us free air, and wholesome 
exercise ; leave to develop our expanding en¬ 
ergies in accordance with the law of our be¬ 
ing ; and full scope for the elastic and bound¬ 
ing impulses of our young blood !’” 

Amen, say we ! This is the true doctrine : 
not because it is the man’s, or ours, but be¬ 
cause all nature tells us it is true. First at¬ 
tend to the physical. That must be sound. 
Then look to the heart. Touch that, by all 
means. Go out into the fields, over beds of 
flowers, tell useful stories, and do whatever may 
impress the senses rightly, or move the heart 
truly, in the child; and if he live, in nine 
cases out of ten, he will be a man, and a true 
one to boot! 


UNITED STATES. 39 


EXTENT OF THE UNITED STATES. 

The present confederacy of the United 
States of North America contains a larger 
area of cultivated land and hospitable climate 
than any country that has previously existed. 
Ancient and modern empires sink into insig¬ 
nificance when compared with it. The Uni¬ 
ted States of America contain 2,300,000 square 
miles, over half a million more than Europe, 
if we except Russia. Their greatest length is 
3,000 miles, their greatest breadth 1,700 miles. 

They have a frontier line of 10,000 miles, 
a seacoast of 36,000 miles, and an inland lake 
coast of 1,200 miles. 

The rivers in the United States are the lar¬ 
gest in the world. The Missouri is 3,600 miles 
in length, or more than twice as long as the 
Danube. The Ohio is 600 miles longer than 
the Rhine. The Hudson, entirely within a 
single state, is navigable 120 miles above its 
mouth farther than the Thames. 

The state of Virginia has an area of 70,000 
square miles, and is about .one third larger 
than England ; the state of Ohio 40,000 square 
miles, or one fourth more than the whole of 
Scotland ; and the state of Maine upward of 
30,000 square miles, or nearly as large as Ire¬ 
land, which has about 8,000.000 of people. 

The harbor of the city of New York is the 
Atlantic outlet of a river, canal, and lake nav¬ 
igation of about 3,000 miles, or the distance 
from Europe to America. 

From Augusta, in the state of Maine, to 
New Orleans, in the state of Louisiana, the 
distance is 1,800 miles, or 200 more than from 
London to Constantinople. Togo from Lon¬ 
don to Constantinople, you cross the entire 
continent of Europe, and through most of its 
principal kingdoms. 

The great proportion of the whole extent of 
the territory of the United States is unculti¬ 
vated. The population of the country, as rap¬ 
idly as it increases, would not occupy all the 
public domain in a cycle of five hundred years ; 
and yet, in spite of this startling fact, there are 
among us men claiming to be statesmen, who 
wish to anticipate the future, and occupy by 
conquest, at the expense of blood and treasure, 
that territory which is as certain to fall into 
our possession by the natural course of events, 
as that the sun’s rising marks the beginning 
of day. So vast, indeed, is the territory of the 
United States already, that it takes no ordinary 
mind to comprehend its extent, and few indeed 
can calculate its resources ; and the most com¬ 
prehensive intellect can not, when wanned by 
a high-wrought imagination, give a faint glim¬ 
mering of the future wealth and power to be 
accorded to the American people—not by the 
force of arms, but simply by the pursuit of the 
arts of peace. 









TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 


TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND—NO. 1. 

BY HARRIET MARTINEAU. 

It was on Sunday, March 28th, that we 
were to enter the Holy Land. I had been too 
much engrossed by the objects which interested 
us at every step in Egypt and Arabia, to think 
much of this beforehand; but when I came 
forth from our tent in the dawn of that morn¬ 
ing, there was enough of novelty in the scene 
around me to make me feel that we were 
about to enter upon a new country, and a new 
set of interests ; and I became eager to know 
at what hour we were to pass the boundary 
which separated the desert from the Holy 
Land—the home of the old faith from that of 
the new. We had followed the track of Mo¬ 
ses from the spot where his mother placed his 
bulrush cradle to that on which he died ; for 
to the east we should this morning see the 
mountains overhanging the Dead Sea; and 
among them the summit of Nebo, whence he 
looked abroad over the Land of Promise; 
and now we were to enter upon the country 
of Jesus—certain to walk in his very foot¬ 
steps, and see what he saw—perhaps this 
very day. I never remember feeling such an 
interest in every wild-flower, in the outlines 
of all the hills, and the track of all the water¬ 
courses. 

We had left the stony desert behind us, 
and were encamped in a nook of the hills 
where the ground was green, and weeds grew 
thick. There was grass under my bed in the 
tent; and when I came out this morning, the 
dew was heavy on the daisies and buttercups 
and flowering mallows which grew abundant- 


Oriental Mode of Travelling. 































































TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 


Camels loading preparatory to starting. 


ly on the turf. After breakfast, while the 
camels were loading, I walked in the early 
sunshine on a strip of sand overlooking the 
valley, impressing on my memory every fea¬ 
ture of the landscape, and impatient of the 
rising ground to the north, which prevented 
my seeing where we were going. It was about 
ten o’clock when we passed the boundary. 
It was impossible to tell the exact moment; 
but within a mile or two we felt that we were 
indeed in the native land of Christ, and prob¬ 
ably on his very track. He might have been 
here. His relations lived at Hebron; and 
during the first thirty years of his life he had 
probably visited them, after meeting them at 
the feasts at Jerusalem. He might have 
walked over the hills which swelled higher 
and higher as we advanced, and rested beside 
some of the wells which yawned beside our- 
track. At any rate, the trees and flowers 
which we saw must have been familiar to his 
eyes ; the thorny acacia which began here to 
rise and spread from the stunted shrub of the 
desert to the dimensions of a tree ; the scarlet 
anemone—with us a precious garden flower 
—which here strewed the ground for acres 
round ; the cyclamen, which pushed forth its 


tufts of white and lilac blossoms from under 
many a stone and bush ; and the poppy, mal¬ 
low, hemlock, and wild oats, which grew as 
thickly as in any English hedge. I did not 
know before that these weeds were as com¬ 
mon here as with us ; and never before did 
the sight of them give me so much pleasure. 
It would have been pleasant anywhere to meet 
these familiar weeds so far from home; but 
the delight to-day was to think that He and 
his disciples were as much accustomed to 
them as ourselves, and that a walk in the 
early spring was, in the pure country, much 
the same thing to them as to us. 

But we soon came upon traces which showed 
that the expanse of pure country here was 
small in those days, compared with what it is 
now. The towns must have been more thick¬ 
ly set here than in any country I ever was in. 
Patches and masses of ruins showed them¬ 
selves on every hand, so near each other as 
to indicate that the land must have been peo¬ 
pled to a degree now nowhere known. The 
first ploughing we had seen for many weeks 
was a striking sight to us; a mere scratching 
of the soil at the foot of the hills: but close 
by lay a heap of building stones, the remains 












































































TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 



An E licampment. 


of a town or village. Presently we saw a 
rude plough, with a single camel at work; 
and at hand was a long foundation wall, laid 
in a far-distant century. On a height further 
on, were the remains of a large ancient build¬ 
ing, with two broken pillars standing, marking 
the site of the Aroer of Scripture. Then, 
though there were water-courses about every 
hill, wells began to abound; substantial, deep 
wells, built with a rim with holes in it, to re¬ 
ceive the covering stone; such wells as tell 
of a settlement beside them. We stopped 
early this day—partly because it was Sunday, 
and partly because our Arab guards, who 
know nothing of our Sunday, found a con¬ 
venient place among the hills, somewhat shel¬ 
tered from the cold wind; and here, a very 
few miles from the boundary, the gentlemen 
of the party discovered that we had sat down 
in the midst of what was once a large town, 
though the place appeared a mere stony tract, 
like many that we had passed. In the morn¬ 
ing early, I went out to see for myself, and 
was astonished at the extent of the ruins 
which I should not have observed while mere¬ 
ly riding by. I could trace the lines of foun¬ 
dation walls for half a mile ; and building 
stones, overgrown with grass, lay in hil¬ 
locks for a considerable distance round. The 
many caverns in the limestone rocks, now 
used as beds for the goats, were found to be 
the vaults of large buildings now gone to ruin. 
In a few minutes, we traced three temples, or 


other such buildings, by their overthrown pil¬ 
lars. Our eyes being now opened, we this 
day saw more and more remains, till we were 
convinced that all the way from the boundary 
to Hebron, the land was thick-set with towns, 
and swarming with inhabitants in the days of 
its glory—the days when the Teacher went 
up and down in'it, meditating the changes 
which must make it what I have seen it now. 
Its hills and streams, its skies and flowers, are 
to-day what they were before his eyes : but 
where he saw towns on every height, and vil¬ 
lages in every nook, there is now hardly left 
one stone upon another. A group of black 
Bedouin tents on a hillside, a camel or two 
browsing here, and a flock of goats there, are 
all that relieve the utter solitude where there 
was then an innumerable throng of men. 

As we advanced, on the Monday, the soil 
became richer, and field was joined to field, so 
that we began to look for the landmarks which 
are here used instead of fences, to bound field 
property. AVe entered upon thickets and 
shrubberies, where white roses, the cyclamen, 
convolvulus, and fragrant herbs, abounded. 
Soon after noon, a new scene opened upon us. 
On our left hand lay a wide, deep basin among 
the hills, full of vineyards and olive-grounds, 
where the stones from the soil were built up 
into fences, and in almost every plot rose a 
garden-house. This was a sure sign that we 
were near a town; and as we rounded the hill 
on our right, we came in sight of the two emi- 
































Hebron. 


nences on which Hebron is built. There 
stood the town where John the Baptist was 
born; and here were the scenes which he must 
many a time have talked of with his cousin, 
in their boyish meetings at Jerusalem for the 
feasts. Hebron, too, is only twenty miles 
from Bethlehem; only twenty-six from Jeru¬ 
salem ; and in those days, when a large 
amount of yearly travelling was a solemn re¬ 
ligious duty incumbent upon every family, it 
is scarcely possible but that relatives must 
have often visited each other, and that Jesus 
and his parents must have come to Hebron. 

The cave of Machpelali is there; and the 
burial-place of Abraham and his family was 
a sacred locality, and an object of pilgrimage 
to Jews of all ages. As we inquired for it, 
and walked round the enclosure, which the 
Mohammedans now permit no Christian to en¬ 
ter, I could not but think who might have 
been before us in the same quest. 

As I sat on a tomb in the Turkish cemetery 
the next morning, watching the preparations 
for our departure, I almost dreaded the inter¬ 
est which every day would now bring, after 
the calm and quiet weeks we had spent in the 
desert. Our encampment looked much the 
same as it had done every morning for a month 
past; the Arab servants busy in taking down 


and packing the tents, and a noisy quarrel go¬ 
ing on in the midst—(this morning about a 
pistol having been stolen from one of the 
tents:)—and the differences were only that 
there were spectators standing by, and that 
our camels had given place to horses and asses. 
But instead of the rocks and sands of the 
desert, Hebron was before my eyes, and the 
hills where Abraham spread his~ flocks, and 
the spot where he and his family lay buried. 
And before night, I should see the place where 
David was born, and lived his shepherd life, 
and where Jesus was born. We had only 
twenty miles to travel this day to Bethlehem, 
but it was quite enough, for we were eager 
about every old tree, and well, and liill-top. 
The shrubs grew finer, and the wild flowers 
more abundant, the whole way; though the 
hills of Judah were wild and stony in parts, 
and no longer fit for pasturing such flocks as 
covered them when Abraham lived among 
them, or when the Hebrews drove in their 
cattle from the desert, or when David in his 
boyhood amused himself with slinging smooth 
stones from the brook while his father’s sheep 
were feeding on the slopes. We sat down to 
rest and eat under the shade of a rock and a 
spreading tree; and for the hundredth time 
since we left Egypt it occurred to me how lit- 





































44 TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 


tie we can enter into the meaning of David 
when, in his divine songs, he speaks of the 
shade of rocks, and of the beauty of “ a tree 
planted by rivers of water,” and all such cool 
images. When one has been slowly pacing 
on, hour after hour, over glaring sands or heat¬ 
ed rocks, under a sun which makes every bit 
of leather or metal, and even one’s outer 
clothing, feel scorching hot, and oppressing 
one’s very breathing, the sight of a patch of 
dark shade is welcome beyond belief: and 
when one has dismounted and felt the coolness 
of the rocky wall and of the ground beneath 
it, and gathered the fresh weeds which cluster 
in its crevices, phrase after phrase of the 
Psalms and prophecies comes over one’s mind, 
with a life and freshness as sweet as the blos¬ 
soms in one’s lap. 

Our first sight of Bethlehem was beautiful. 
We came upon it suddenly, just when the 
yellow sunset light was richest. Bethlehem 
was on the rising ground on our right, massive- 
looking (as all the villages of Palestine are) 
and shadowy, as the last sun-rays passed over 
it to gild the western hills, and another village 
which there lay high up, embosomed in fig 
and olive orchards. The valley between, out 
of which we were rising, lay in shadow. Be¬ 
fore us, perched on a lofty ridge, which rose 
between us and Jerusalem, was the convent of 
St. Elias, which we were to pass to-morrow. 
I was sorry to turn away from this view: but 
we had to take the right-hand road, and ride 


through the narrow streets of the village to 
the great convent, built over the spot where 
Jesus is believed by the monks to have been 
born. 

It was too late this evening to see any of the 
sacred localities ; but it was quite enough to 
have the moonlight streaming in during the 
whole night through the window of my lofty 
convent chamber, and to think that on this hill 
took place the greatest event in the history of 
the world ; and that in the fields near, the 
gentle Ruth went about her gleaning, little 
dreaming in those days of her poverty, that 
from her meeting with Boaz among the reap¬ 
ers of his harvests, would arise such events 
to the human race ; that the shepherd grand¬ 
child, whose divine songs were to soothe her 
old age, should be the mighty king he was, 
and the father of a yet mightier, who should 
build the great temple of the Lord; and that 
a more distant descendant should make these 
glories appear as childish toys in the presence 
of his greater sovereignty over the universal 
human soul. A wise man of a late century 
has nobly said that “ Prosperity is the prom¬ 
ise of the Old Testament, and Adversity that 
of the New.” On this hill was born the pros¬ 
perity of the old dispensation; and on this 
hill was born the Man of sorrows who knew 
the secret of true peace, and taught it in the 
saying that it profits not a man to gain the 
whole world if he lose his own soul. 

In the morning we went into the church of 


Bethlehem. 





















































































































Jerusalem, with its Walls—A northwest View. 



mm 


i eggs 

SRjpKsj'* 


'“sffiwh 


mam 


■SMi 


,< vl ihH^i 

































































































































































































































































































































































































































Convent erected on what tradition affirms to be the Cave of the Nativity. 


the convent. I cared little for the upper part, 
with its chapels for Greek, Latin, and Arme¬ 
nian worship: and not much more for the 
caverns underground, where the monks be¬ 
lieve that Joseph and Mary remained while 
there was no room for them in the inn. If 
the town was too full to receive them wdiile 
the people were collected for the census, it is 
hardly probable that they would repair to an 
underground cave : but in this cave mass was 
going on this morning; and striking was the 
effect, after coming down from the sunshine, 
of the crowded cavern, with its yellow lights 
and their smoke, and the echoes of the chant¬ 
ing. We returned when the service was over, 
and saw the star in the marble floor which 
marks, as the friars believe, the precise spot 
where Jesus was born, and the marble slab 
which is laid in the place of the manger. 
When I saw, throughout the country, how the 
Arabs now use the caves of the hills to bed 
their goats and cattle, this belief of the friars 
appeared less absurd than it would with us ; 
but still, it is so improbable that the precise 
spot of these transactions (whose importance 
was not known till afterward) should have 
been marked and remembered, that I felt little 
interested in them in comparison with the land¬ 
scape outside, about whose leading features 
there could be no mistake. 

From the bottom of the garden, we over¬ 
looked the great valle3 r which expanded to the 
northeast; and one enclosure there—a green 
spot now occupied by olive-trees—was point¬ 
ed out to us as the field where the shepherds 
were abiding on the night when Christ was 
born. Behind it, to the east, lay range behind 
range of hills, stretching off to the north; 
and among these, we knew, lay the Dead Sea, 
and the Jordan, where it pours its waters into 
that lifeless and melancholy lake. As we left 
the convent and village, and descended the 
rocky road, with terraced vineyards and olive 


groves on either hand, we knew that Joseph 
and Mary must have come by this way from 
Jerusalem when summoned to the census: 
and this was more to us than all the sights the 
friars had shown us in their zeal and kindness. 
We looked in at the tomb of Rachel, and at 



Tomb of Rachel. 


the convent of Elias; but our eyes and 
thoughts were bent toward Jerusalem. I re¬ 
member, however, that here I first saw the 
waters of the Dead Sea, lying blue in a little 
gap between the hills. 

As soon as I had mounted my ass before the 
convent of Elias I saw from our ridge some 
buildings on the rising ground which now 
showed itself before us. I was not immedi¬ 
ately certain what they were : but the news 
soon spread among us. That rising ground 
was Zion, and those buildings belonged to Je¬ 
rusalem, though they stood outside the wall. 




















































PLAN FOR EMANCIPATION. 47 


Immediately after, the walled city itself came 
into view, lying along the hills. Most of the 
party were disappointed. I was not—partly 
because I knew that we were approaching it 
from the least favorable side, and partly be¬ 
cause my expectations had much underrated 
the size and grandeur of the city. What we 
now saw was a line of white walls on a hill¬ 
side, with some square buildings and small 
white domes rising within. 

I walked the rest of the wav. On our 
right were hills, the summit of one of which 
was Aceldema, bought by the priests with the 
money which the wretched Judas returned to 
them when he found too late what he had done 
in his attempt to force his Lord to assert his 
claim to a temporal sovereignty. On our 
right was the plain of Rephaim. When we 
arrived at the brow of the high ground we 
were on, we were taken by surprise by the 
grandeur of the scene. Zion now appeared 
worthy of her name, and of her place in the 
hymns of David, and in history. We were 
now overlooking the valley of Gihon, more 
commonly known by the name of Himnom. 
From its depth, and its precipitous rocks on 
our side, I should call it a ravine. This deep 
dell contains the Lower Pool, now dry ; and 
the aqueduct from Solomon’s Pools is seen 
crossing it obliquely. Its opposite side is Zi¬ 
on, rising very steeply, still terraced for til¬ 
lage in some parts, and crowned by the city 
wall. To the right, sweeping away from the 
ravine of Gihon, is the deep and grand valley 
of Jehoshaphat, clustered with rocks, relieved 
by trees, and leading the eye round to the 
slope of Olivet, which, however, is best seen 
from the other side of the city. The black 
dome of the tomb of David was the next ob¬ 
ject ; and after that, the most conspicuous 
roof in the city—the great dome of the 
Mosque of Omar, which occupies the site of 
Solomon’s Temple. 

By this time, there was silence among us. 
I walked behind our cavalcade, as it slowly 
ascended the beautiful rocky way—glad of 
the silence permitted by each to all; for it 
was not possible at the moment—nor will it 
ever be possible—to speak of the impressions 
of that hour. We entered by the Jaffa gate ; 
and every echo of our horses’ feet in the nar¬ 
row, stony, picturesque streets, told upon our 
hearts as we said to ourselves that we were 
taking up our rest in Jerusalem. 

The liberty of a people consists in being 
governed by laws which they have made them¬ 
selves, under whatsoever form it be of gov¬ 
ernment ; the liberty of a private man in be¬ 
ing master of his own time and actions, as far 
as may consist with the laws of God and of his 
country. 


PLAN FOR EMANCIPATION, 

There has been so much said and published 
on the subject of Emancipation, both at the 
north and south, that it has become somewhat 
difficult to discuss it without awaking party 
interests and feelings. The best cause, as is 
well known, may be ruined by injudicious ad- 1 
vocates. The people of the south, however, 
can not but approve of candor and truth ; and 
we feel confident that they will be pleased 
with the Hon. David Sears’ safe and liberal 
propositions on the subject of gradual emanci¬ 
pation, advocating, as they most clearly do, 
not only a full indemnity for every slave lib¬ 
erated, but presenting no impossibility or se¬ 
rious difficulty of execution. 

Before presenting our readers with the sub¬ 
stance of Mr. Sears’ Plan for Emancipation, 
we insert the following petition in its support, 
which, we understand, is now in circulation 
for signatures in this and several other of the 

o 

states :— 

“ To the Senate and House of Represen¬ 
tatives of the United States of America :— 
The petition of the undersigned, citizens of 
-, respectfully asks, that you will con¬ 
sider the expediency of endeavoring to effect 
such a change in the constitution or laws, as 
shall appropriate the public lands of the na¬ 
tion in aid of the extinction of slavery through¬ 
out the Union. 

“ Also, the expediency of appointing com¬ 
missioners, whose duty it shall be—under 
such conditions as congress may determine— 
to purchase and emancipate slaves—being fe¬ 
male children bom prior to 1850. And, also, 
of making annual appropriations by law for 
the purpose, on a pledge of said public lands, 
with a declaratory act, that from and after 
1850, there shall be no hereditary slavery. 
But that on and after that date, every child 
bom within the United States of America, 
their jurisdiction and territories, shall be bom 
free.” 

In one of Mr. Sears’ late communications 
on the subject of Emancipation, when giving 
statistical facts in relation to it, he says:— 

“ The last census of the United States gave 
420,000 as the number of female slaves under 
ten years of age, and 390,000 as the number 
of female slaves between the ages of ten and 
twenty years. The plan proposed contem¬ 
plates the purchase of one, or both of these 
classes, at a price to be agreed on. It is esti¬ 
mated that at their present average value, they 
could be bought and emancipated at a cost 
much less than the expense of the last war 
of the nation with Great Britain, and for less 
than the probable cost of the present war 
on Mexico.” 

In relation to the commissioners to be ap- 














A summary of the plan is as follows:— 

1. Congress to appropriate the proceeds of 
the sales of public lands to the extinction of 
slavery. 

2. Commissioners to be appointed by Con¬ 
gress to negotiate with the legislatures of the 
slave states, for the purchase of female slaves 
under ten years of age, and also, if necessa¬ 
ry, female slaves under twenty years of age, 
and with instructions to close a contract with 
any one of said states which may agree to 
accept the terms of their commission. The 
money to be paid to the stales , and to be by 
them apportioned. 

3. Female slaves so purchased are to be 
free, and their issue are to be free. 

4. In consideration of the above, all chil¬ 
dren born after 1850, are to be free, within 
the states so contracting, and from that date, 
hereditary slavery in the United. States , its 
territories and dependencies, is to cease. 

In a reply of Mr. Sears’ to a committee 
of citizens of Philadelphia, on the subject, are 
the following practical remarks, which seem 
to rid the plan of the only serious objection 
which can be urged against it:— 

“ I am ready to acknowledge a right of 
property in slaves—living, tangible, and exist¬ 
ent—but not a right to hold the race in bond¬ 
age through all future time. And in order to 
avoid the difficulties and dangers which might 
arise from an immediate and unqualified liber¬ 
ation of a debased and ignorant class, I have 
suggested that children who may be bom after 
1850, should be apprenticed to their owners, 
or others, until they are twenty-one years of 
age, on the proviso that they receive from 
their masters a suitable education to fit them 
for their improved condition. And this is to 
apply to all children born after that period, 
whether their mothers have been freed by ap¬ 
propriations made by Congress or not. The 
process once begun, and the impediment to 
our being a powerful, a united, and a happy 
people, is for ever removed.” 

The spirit of Mr. Sears’ plan of emanci¬ 
pation is contained in the above summary. In 
our own judgment, we have arrived at a con¬ 
juncture in which the wisdom of our greatest 
statesmen is required on this subject. The 
present scheme transfers the burden from the 
slaveholder to the nation. Thousands at the 
north will be found to aid in the accomplish¬ 
ment of a peaceful emancipation, even to the 
extreme of self-denial and sacrifice. Mr. S.’s 
plan has not been prepared under the influence 
of any sectional or party feeling. The warmest 
advocates of the present state of things must 
be satisfied of this after reading his excellent 
and judicious letters on the subject, as they 
show, most conclusively, that the evil can be 
gradually abolished, without detriment to their 


rights or interests. We invite the attention 
of the press and our public men to the consid¬ 
eration of the plan proposed. May nothing 
cloud the prospect of the nation’s coming to a 
speedy, united, and happy decision. 

A late number of the “Norfolk (Va.) Her¬ 
ald” contains the following remarks of its can¬ 
did and truth-speaking editor :— 

“ Let those who are lured by the prospect 
of gain, or who really believe that they can 
better their condition by emigrating to the new 
states, follow their bent—and take their slaves 
along with them! The vacuum may cause a 
momentary weakness, but it will be only to 
recruit with twofold vigor. The place of ev¬ 
ery slave will in time be filled with hardy, 
industrious, tax-paying, musket-bearing free¬ 
men, of the right stuff to people a free state, 
which Virginia is destined to be one of these 
days , and the sooner (consistently with rea¬ 
son ) the better for her own good." 

This is cheering intelligence from such a 
quarter. The people of western Virginia— 
whose prolific mountains and valleys encour¬ 
age the growth of the spirit of freedom—have 
long wished to be rid of slavery. But the 
people of southern Virginia, more unfortunate 
in location and association, have hitherto suc¬ 
cessfully repressed this western sentiment. 
If, as would appear from this paragraph from 
the “ Norfolk Herald,” the true character of 
slavery, as a ruinous absorbent, is beginning 
to be felt, there is indeed hope of Virginia. 

That it would be “ better for her” if slave¬ 
ry were abolished in Virginia, there can be no 
reasonable doubt. Slavery is, and always has 
been, an incubus upon the prosperity of that 
state. Her originally rich soil has become 
barren and fruitless under the exhausting and 
improvident tillage of slave-labor. The once- 
prolific plantations are bankrupting their pro¬ 
prietors. To thousands, the unpleasant alter¬ 
native is presented of abject poverty at home, 
or emigration to the new soil at the west. 
Large numbers have chosen the latter; and 
their places have been filled by farmers from 
the north. They, schooled in the science of 
agriculture, and inured to toil, can, with free 
labor, restore what slavery has exhausted. 
Under their judicious application of this free 
labor, Virginia would soon be lifted from her 
present condition; and when this truth shall 
be felt and acted upon, the “ Herald’s” pre¬ 
diction will become matter of history. 

With these and a multitude of similar facts 
before them, will not the intelligent and re¬ 
flecting people of the slaveholding states take 
into serious and candid consideration the plan 
devised and recommended by Mr. Sears for 
the removal of the originating and operative 
causes which, as long as they continue to ex¬ 
ist, can not, according to the apprehensions of 


t_ 








PLAN FOR EMANCIPATION. 


the wisest men who have lived in the south¬ 
ern states, fail of being deeply injurious to 
their present prosperity and happiness, and of 
being instrumental in placing invincible im¬ 
pediments in the way of their future advance¬ 
ment in science, literature, the arts, in wealth, 
and in everything else which can justly be 
deemed promotive of an increased degree of 
safety, comfort, civilization and refinement ? 

We more cheerfully make these reflections, 
from the well-known fact that such illustri¬ 
ous men as Rufus King, while United States 
senator, and more recently the distinguished 
Henry Clay, have boldly and honestly ex¬ 
pressed similar sentiments. 

The terms proposed are liberal. Mr. S. 
remarks : “We would manage it, if possible, 
so as to gain the approbation of the most inter¬ 
ested, and be prepared to meet them on terms 
of mutual concession for common preservation. 
Compensation must be made for every 
emancipated slave, and an obnoxious fea- 
tnre in the constitution removed.” Now, if 
our southern friends would meet the demands 
of this proposal fairly, manfully, in due sea¬ 
son, and in as kind a spirit as animates the 
author of the plan alluded to, the one great 
trust devolving on the men of the present gen¬ 
eration in this country would be accomplished; 
and, in ages to come, their posterity would 
bless them. 


In order to present more clearly, the views 
and sentiments of Mr. Sears, in relation to 
his proposed plan for emancipation, we give 
the following extracts from his correspondence 
on the subject, with the late Ex-President, 
John Quincy Adams :— 

“We believe that the interest as well as 
happiness of the whole Union, requires the 
abolition of slavery. But in this belief we 
would be careful to let neither prejudice, nor 
passion, nor wrong, govern us. We desire, 
therefore, that some proposal may be made 
to show to the intelligent and thinking part 
of the south, that in the adjustment of this 
matter, the rights of property are to be sa¬ 
credly respected ; some mode adopted to sat¬ 
isfy them that our intentions are honest:— 
some evidence given, that we act under a con¬ 
scientious conviction, that on it depends the 
quiet and duration of the Union.” 

“ To avoid the inevitable result of an open 
outbreak, it is necessary that there should be 
a united action in the free states, with the 
adoption of some great principle which shall 
unite us all.” 

“ In this view, the enclosed principles are 
framed. They are independent of party, 
and leave every one free to act on all minor 
questions—being united only in this —that from 
and after 1850, every child lorn in the Uni¬ 


49 


ted States shall be born free. This great ob¬ 
ject we earnestly seek to obtain in a reason¬ 
able way, and upon principles of right and 
justice. We would manage it, if possible, 
so as to gain the approbation of those most 
interested, and be prepared to meet them on 
terms of mutual concession for common pres¬ 
ervation. Compensation must be made for 
every emancipated slave, and an obnoxious 
feature in the constitution removed. But it 
is not necessary in attempting this, to touch 
the argument that a certain interpretation of 
that instrument would perpetuate slavery to 
all generations unborn, nor to show that by 
such an assumption of construction, the state 
of Virginia, and her southern neighbors— 
while the traffic is expressly forbidden else¬ 
where—are virtually made another Afica for 
the supply of slaves, and have a monopoly 
of the trade. Such irritating topics may be 
put at rest. It is best to appeal to the inter¬ 
est of the slaveholder to convince him. It 
is proposed that he should be paid for every 
slave that is emancipated, and that he shall 
have the labor, during their lives, of such as are 
not purchased. He is in fact deprived of noth¬ 
ing which has existence, or in which he can 
have property. No pecuniary sacrifice is 
exacted—the expense of the infancy of chil¬ 
dren being paid by indenture with their moth¬ 
ers, who, being purchased and made free, 
may bind them to labor, as we bind our ap¬ 
prentices—and an honorable opportunity is 
thus offered to the slaveholder, to test the 
honesty of his democratic principles, and his 
regard for human rights, without danger, and 
without loss. The moral tone of the slave is 
raised by the brighter future, and parent 
slaves are induced to behave well, and to 
work hard, in the knowledge that their chil¬ 
dren will be free; all tending to the benefit 
of the owner.” 

“No proposition like the present has ever 
yet been made to the south, nor remuneration 
in any shape offered. Let us try it, in the 
spirit of conciliation-, to save them and our¬ 
selves from a great, a common, and an impend¬ 
ing calamity.” 

“These views I have strongly urged, and 
I have endeavored to impress on the minds 
of our friends the necessity of uniting on the 
subject of compensation, for the sake of union, 
happiness, and peace.” 

“ It certainly appears to be a matter of 
great importance, especially to the three states 
Maryland, Virginia, and Kentucky, to look 
closely into the subject, and examine the prop¬ 
osition tendered to them. They are border 
states, and in contact with a spirit of free¬ 
dom ; and while they are becoming compar¬ 
atively less rich and strong, they can not but 
see that their neighbors—divided from them, 


4 









50 PLAN FOR EMANCIPATION. 

only by an imaginary line, or a small stream 
—are rapidly advancing upon them in wealth 
and strength. Nor can they deny that these 
consequences follow, on the one hand, from 
the institution of slavery, and on the other, 
from the institution of free labor.* The for¬ 
mer must ever yield to the latter in the pro¬ 
duction of wealth, prosperity, and power. 
As these elements of greatness increase among 
the free states, what, in all probability will 
be the future destiny of these border states ?” 

“ I wish not to excite an angry feeling, or 
to wound the self-love of any one, my object 
is peace ; but if the people of these states, 
would calmly hear what may be said, and 
coolly judge of what they hear, we should all, 
in time, come to the same conclusion. Sup¬ 
pose this conclusion arrived at, then Mary¬ 
land, Virginia, and Kentucky, would unite in 
applying to Congress for the very compro¬ 
mise which the petition offers. They would 
say, ‘ We have long borne the burden of sla¬ 
very, and now wish to get rid of it. We can¬ 
not do so without your assistance. We may, 
it is true, sell a part of our property in South 
Carolina and other states, where the soil, from 
its nature, and the climate, from its unhealthi¬ 
ness, can only be inhabited by the African, 
but we have been at a great expense in rear¬ 
ing the infant to the child, and in feeding the 
old man in his age. You must, therefore, 
grant us something as an equivalent, and we 
will meet in the spirit of compromise, to root 
from our land an acknowledged evil. Put us, 
we pray you, in a position to reap the full 
advantages offered to us by Heaven, in a 

* What a volume is contained in the following con¬ 
trast ; and yet this is only a fair statement of the dif¬ 
ference between a slave and a free state. 

FREE SOIL—MASSACHUSETTS SLAVE SOIL—S’TH CAROLINA 

Has territory. ..7,500 sq m. Has territory.. .25,000 sq. m. 

Pop. in 1845.800,000 Pop. in 1845.600,000 

Products in do..#124,735,264 Products in do...#53,086,765 
Production to each Production to each 

individual.#154 individual.#88 

Cost of State Gov- Cost of State Gov¬ 
ernment, 1844_#461,097 ernment, 1844-#347,831 

Members of Congress_10 Members of Congress.7 

Scholars in Com- Scholars in Com¬ 
mon Schools.160,257 mon Schools.12 520 

In Academies.16,746 In Academies.4,326 

In Colleges.769 In Colleges.168 

Persons over 20 who Whites over 20, who can 

can not read or write. .4448 not read or write.. ..20,615 

Slaves. none Slaves not permitted 

to read or write....330,000 

Still more striking does this contrast become if we 
compare Kentucky and Ohio—sister states, alike in 
soil and climate, and divided only by a river, but as 
dissimilar in enterprise and prosperity as can be im¬ 
agined. No powers of argument can reason down 
facts like these, and already is their influence at work 
in Virginia, Kentucky, Maryland, and perhaps other 
states. Conciliation, as well as firmness, is now de¬ 
manded on the part of the north ; firmness in an op¬ 
position to the extension of slavery, but a generous 
and conciliatory spirit in devising a method of relief 
for the states now involved in it. 

healthy climate and a rich soil, and to this end 
purchase and make free the female infants of 
our slaves, and we will abolish hereditary sla¬ 
very for ever. Every child born after 1850, 
shall be born free.’ ” 

“Nor is the supposition of such a union 
of opinion by any means chimerical. It is 
obviously for the interest of these three states 
to range themselves on the side of freedom, 
and if they should do so, the result is certain.” 

“ As events ripen, it is evident that no time 
should be lost in devising some conciliatory 
measure of compromise. The great question 
of slavery, though in a modified form, has 
already been brought before Congress, never 
again to quit it until slavery ceases. The 
power and number of those who seek its ex¬ 
tinction are daily on the increase, and the 
chances of compensation for slaves will year¬ 
ly grow less : after 1850, in my opinion none 
can be obtained. The matter must then as¬ 
sume a more serious aspect, and the border 
states will doubly suffer.” 

“In a. letter to a friend—who, in a series 
of numbers recently published in the Boston 
Courier, has so fully demonstrated the value 
of the plan of emancipation I suggested, and 
•who has touched the subject with a master’s 
hand—I frankly stated my fears, and in giv¬ 
ing them also to you, I trust they will be re¬ 
ceived as they were uttered—‘more in sorrow 
than in anger.’ ” 

“ It seems to me that we are slowly but 
steadily advancing to that dreadful crisis that 
has been so long predicted. The events of 
the next ten years will probably decide the 
question of the continuance of South Caroli¬ 
na, and some other of the slave states as a 
part of the confederacy—for by that time the 
north will demonstrate a determined force 
against slave dictation. The balance of pow¬ 
er under the compromise of the constitution 
is gone—the constitution itself is invaded and 
broken—and new elements are introduced in¬ 
to it, wdiich are too inflammable in their na¬ 
ture not to consume it.” 

“ The right of slave representation, origin¬ 
ally limited, in fact if not by name, to five 
out of thirteen states, is soon to be extended 
over conquered territories and foreign nations 
ol more than half a continent. The indolent 
and ignorant slaveman, without education or 
industry, is hereafter, by means of a three- 
fifth vote, to guide the destinies of this mighty 
empire.” 

“ Had a firm resistance been shown to the 
admission of Texas, while demanding a slave 
representation —I do not say a slave popula¬ 
tion ; that is another branch of the question, 
but a slave representation—there is little 
doubt that the war with Mexico would have 
been avoided. What is now to prevent a 





















THE AGE OF PROGRESS.' 51 


slave representation from being indefinitely 
extended ? What to prevent the farmer and 
mechanic of the north, from being ruled and 
governed by the slaves of the south? Noth¬ 
ing but a stern and unbending will, followed 
out by action, to maintain the principles of 
the constitution. Mutual concession and com¬ 
promise may do much, but can they be brought 
to bear, except under pressure of necessity, 
and to save the Union.” 

“Events are tending to this issue, and soon¬ 
er or later the struggle will come. It is im¬ 
possible that three fourths of the talent, the 
wealth, and the industry of the country can 
always quietly submit to have their petitions 
and counsels rejected, and their best interests, 
and their own peculiar institutions, continu¬ 
ally sacrificed at the will and pleasure of the 
feudal bondage power of slavemen. We had 
better meet the evil, however great, or in 
whatever form it may approach us.” 

“ I do not fear a dissolution of the Union. 
The worst that can happen is a temporary 
secession from the confederation of certain of 
the slave states, which may perhaps quit us 
for a time, and attempt to form an independ¬ 
ent government! Let them try the experi¬ 
ment. In five years from their separation, 
they would be completely at our mercy, and 
petition for re-annexation on our own terms. 
They can not exist without us—yet being 
with us, and of little comparative value in 
the statistics of power and the elements of 
greatness, they govern us at their own ca¬ 
price.” 

“ We are, in fact, in a false position. We 
have yielded up the compromise of five slave 
states to eight free states—the spirit of the 
compact of the constitution—and permitted 
a gross encroachment of the slavemen upon 
the degree of power we originally conceded. 
But notwithstanding these facts, and the feel¬ 
ings they naturally engender, I am anxious 
still to offer to them the plan for emancipation 
which you have been kind enough publicly to 
notice. It was conceived in good will and 
friendship to the south, and offered in the 
spirit of mutual concession to avert an im¬ 
pending evil, and restore harmony to the 
Union.” 

“ No one understands better than yourself 
—whose experience extends beyond the era 
of the constitution—that the present state of 
hostility between the north and south, has 
mainly been brought about by a British poli¬ 
cy, and the radical sentiments uttered by the 
feudal chiefs of South Carolina, and other 
slave states, and thrown by them as firebrands 
among us, to light the flames of riot, and spread 
abroad the embers of disunion. They have 
been successful, and we have retreated before 
them.” 


“ Their huzzas for liberty to all, and equality 
for each, have been taken by us literally, and 
we hasten to shout them back in earnest. 
Men north of Washington, can not compre¬ 
hend why the doctrine should not be good 
south of it, and what the slaveman has preached 
the freeman is now determined to practise.” 

“Had the educated and intelligent of the 
south, instead of rushing to their ruin in a 
vain struggle for personal power, been willing 
to have remained friends with the same class 
of the north, and jointly labored with them 
in the construction and maintenance of a gov¬ 
ernment of laws founded upon reasonable and 
liberal principles, and unitedly opposed the 
intrigues and management of vicious and 
needy men, who have nothing to lose and ev¬ 
erything to gain, how much more happy would 
have been our country, and how many bitter 
feelings would have been spared to her best 
and bravest. 

“ Gluem Deus vult perdere, prius dementat.” 


THE AGE OF PROGRESS. 

No man, we think, will deny that the state 
of society, which belongs to the present era, 
is distinguished above all others, by the de¬ 
sire and the power to advance. To resist 
such progress, is not possible ; and, if possi¬ 
ble, would not be lawful; since the resistance 
would be nothing less than the wilful rejection 
of benefits which God’s providence has scat¬ 
tered in our path. Look only to those benefits 
which the oldest may remember to have seen 
wrought in his own day ; and the commence¬ 
ment of some of which may have been wit¬ 
nessed, even by the youngest. Look, for in¬ 
stance, to the valuable discoveries made, we 
may almost say daily, throughout the vast 
and various fields of natural science. Look 
to the new powers with which the telescope 
and microscope are invested, and which ena¬ 
bles us—in a way more wonderful than any 
which man’s imagination could ever have con¬ 
ceived possible—“to see a system in every 
star, a world in every atom.” Look also to 
the spark of the electric telegraph, darting 
with lightning speed through hundreds of miles 
of space, and, as it darts, communicating 
thought from man to man. Behold the effects 
which have been produced by the single agen¬ 
cy of steam, and see what centuries of im¬ 
provement, in comparison with the past, the 
last half century has comprised within itself. 
But why need w r e go through the long cata¬ 
logue of wonders ? If these be among the 
marvels of the present day, is there any hu¬ 
man being who can say that his own position 












52 BOSTON 


in the world is not affected by them ? Not 
now to enumerate all the changes which must 
arise, we would ask him whether there be not 
a positive addition made hereby to the period 
of his own existence ? We mean not, of 
course, an addition to the days, and weeks, 
and months, and years, by which the course 
of life is reckoned, but an addition to all the 
“ appliances and means” of usefulness which 
may, and ought to, be exerted within those 
limits. Life is virtually prolonged, whereso- 
ver the facilities of sight, and motion, and 
thought, and knowledge, and action, are mul¬ 
tiplied. And, if it be so, then is a greater 
responsibility attached to that stewardship 
which God has committed to the charge of 
all of us. A higher value is imparted to the 
trust; and heavier will be the sin of throwing 
it away, or of employing it unprofitably. 

“The steam-engine and the railroad,” says 
Sir Robert Peel, “ are not merely facilitating 
the transport of merchandise, they are not mere¬ 
ly shortening the duration of journeys, for ad¬ 
ministering to the supply of physical wants. 
They are speeding the intercourse between 
mind and mind—they are creating new de¬ 
mands for knowledge—they are fertilizing the 
intellectual as well as the material waste— 
they are removing the impediments which ob¬ 
scurity, remoteness or poverty, may have here¬ 
tofore opposed to the energy of real merit.” 

These are “ words of truth and soberness,” 
they describe accurately the benefits which 
result from the agency of this mighty instru¬ 
ment; and the years which have elapsed 
since they were spoken, have but supplied 
fresh and diverse testimony in support of the 
same truth. What then is the duty of wise 
men, who find themselves placed in the midst 
of changes so numerous and so vast ? Should 
not their prayer be to gain for all classes the 
utmost amount of benefit thus placed within 
their reach; and should not their efforts be 
directed to the accomplishment of their pray¬ 
er ? To this great end, let them—to borrow 
the forcible language of Dugald Stewart— 
“ heave the log into the deep—and measure 
the rapidity of the current by which the world 
is borne along.” They can not, I repeat it, 
stop the progress of the current if they would ; 
and they onght not, if they could. Neither 
may they stand idly by, trusting to the strength 
of the moorings to which their vessel is made 
fast; for the stoutest cable may give way, 
and the fairest vessel may drift and be lost 
amid rocks and shallows. Let them strive, 
therefore, and turn, in the best directions, the 
stream which is carrying them forward. Let 
them open for it a free course into regions 
where it is most needed ; and rejoice, as they 
see it “fertilizing the intellectual as well as 
the material waste.” 


■v ■ 


COMMON. 


BOSTON COMMON, 

This beautiful piece of ground, associated 
with so many of the pleasures and so much 
of the historical pride of the inhabitants of 
Boston, is situated in the westerly part of the 
city, in front of the statehouse. It is surround¬ 
ed upon three sides by streets, upon which 
are some of the handsomest private residences 
in the city, and upon the other, it lies open 
to the country, commanding a beautiful view 
of the hills and villages of Roxbury, Brook¬ 
line, Brighton, and Cambridge. 

The space contained in the common proper 
—which expression we suppose to be no sole¬ 
cism, except in speaking on grammatical sub¬ 
jects—is about forty-eight acres, inclusive of 
the cemetery within its limits, which is now 
tastefully laid out with trees and walks. The 
land west of Charles street, and held by the 
city as a part of the same property, as joint- 
stock of the citizens, is now used for a public 
garden and is rapidly becoming an ornament 
and a benefit to Boston. The common, inclu¬ 
ding this piece of land, consists of about sev- 
nnty-five acres, and to the traveller entering 
the city from the west, forms a very extensive 
opening among the otherwise compact masses 
of brick upon the peninsula. 

The malls about the common are shaded by 
the most beautiful elms ; and trees, mostly 
American elms, old denizens of colonial times 
and young children of city parentage, stand in 
numbers (to speak statistically there are over 
seven hundred) in every part of the common. 
Near its centre is a little sheet of fresh water, 
now the basin of a beautiful Cocliituate fount¬ 
ain, which modern refinement once christened 
“Crescent Pond,” and once “Quincy Lake,” 
but which Bostonians will probably ever speak 
of, since all men are boys once, as the “ Frog 
Pond.” About this pond have been set some 
young and thrifty elms, which we hope to see 
yet rivalling in beauty their older brothers in 
the malls. South of the pond stands the most 
prominent of the eminences with which the 
surface of the common is varied, which until 
within a few years has borne the marks of a 
fortification thrown up by the British troops 
quartered here in 1775, and although its sur¬ 
face is now more smooth and rounded, manv 
Boston boys will regret the destruction of “ the 
fort.” 

The common has never been as has been 
supposed by some, held as the property of an 
individual or individuals. It appears, from a 
deposition of several of the then “oldest in¬ 
habitants,” taken before Governor Bradstreet 
in 1684, for the purpose of discovering the true 
terms and agreement by which the peninsula 
was obtained by the colony under Winthrop, 
that after the land (with a reservation of about 











The Boston Common, with the Statehouse in the distance. 































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































-—--- 1 

54 VIEW OF NIAGARA FALLS, BELOW TABLE ROCK. 


s’x acres) had been sold to them by “ Mr. 
William Blackstone,” for a considerable sum 
of money made up by a subscription of six 
shillings from each householder (“ none,” says 
the affidavit, “ paying less, some considerably 
more”), “ the town laid out a place for a train¬ 
ing-field, which ever since, and now is used 
for that purpose and for the feeding of cattle.” 
This was the origin of the common, which we 
first find alluded to in the town records, under 
date of October 10, 1634, when certain com¬ 
missioners appointed to divide and dispose of 
the unoccupied lands are instructed to leave 
out “ such portions in common for the use of 
New-Comers , and the further benefit of the 
towns, as in their best discretions they shall 
think fit.” 

Some further extracts from the town rec¬ 
ords on this subject may be found interesting. 
In May, 1729, we find an admirable instance 
of the “ wlien-it-rains-let-it-rain”-philosophy, 
an attempt having been made to do something 
with the marsh on the west side of the com¬ 
mon. “ The selectmen having viewed the 
marsh at the bottom of the common, and not 
finding any material use that can be made of 
it,” &c., “ are of opinion that it is best to lye 
in the condition it now is.” This condition 
seems to have been, for a piece of land, about 
as precarious as that of some modem western 
cities, for we find an account about that time 
(January, 1728) of two young men, skating “ at 
the bottom of the common,” who were d ro wned 
there from the breaking of the ice. 

In March, 1733, it was “voted that the row 
of trees already planted on the common be ta¬ 
ken care of by the selectmen, and that another 
row of trees be planted there at a suitable dis¬ 
tance ;” and “ that a row of posts, with a rail 
on the top of them, be set up and continued 
through the common, from the burying-place 
to Colonel Fitche’s fence, leaving openings at 
the several streets and lanes.” In 1739, it 
was “ voted that posts and rails be set up from 
the granary in Common street” (the site of 
the present Park-street church) “ to Beacon 
street.” 

We find subsequently two propositions for 
disposing of parts of the common, one “ to sell j 
Fox hill on the common,” a low, sandy mound, 
which has been levelled and used in filling up 
the above-mentioned marsh; and one a peti¬ 
tion from a citizen for half an acre of land to 
be taken out of the common for a house-lot: 
but neither of them was acceded to. 

The original purposes specified in the reser¬ 
vation of the common as a place for “ a train¬ 
ing-field, and the feeding of cattle,” were long 


degree lately. Cattle have been kept there 
within the last fifteen or twenty years, and 
the city ordinance that forbids this bears date 
as late as 1833. Many Bostonians will recol¬ 
lect an anecdote in connexion with this case of 
the common, of an exercise of privilege which 
would hardly be tolerated at the present time 
—and some of the older portion of the com¬ 
munity may not have forgotten the spirit with 
which a venerable lady, now deceased, used 
to relate how she was unexpectedly called up¬ 
on to entertain, as the guests of her husband, 
whose mansion still overlooks the common, a 
large party of French officers belonging to the 
count d’Estaing’s fleet, and how her energies 
arose with the emergencies of the occasion. 
“ And what do you think,” would she say, “ I 
did for the cream and milk to serve for a break¬ 
fast for such a party ? Why, I sent out my 
people with orders to milk all the cows on the 
common, and told them if anybody asked any 
questions, to tell them to take the bill to Gov¬ 
ernor Hancock.” 

The common is growing in beauty every 
day, and will ever be a source of pride and 
pleasure to Bostonians. It is a spot endeared 
to all the inhabitants of Boston, and a theme 
for those praises of strangers with which we 
all foster our love and our vanity of home. It 
will remain companion of Faneuil hall in the 
historical associations of the citv, and will 
hardly need for its preservation the clause in 
the city charter which forbids the council to 
sell it. 


VIEW OF NIAGARA FALLS, 

BELOW TABLE ROCK. 

Among the many points that arrest the at¬ 
tention of the traveller at Niagara, there is 
none which he beholds with greater awe, or 
which so fully reveals to him the vastness of 
the mighty cataract, as the one depicted in 
our engraving. The interest of the view is 
greatly heightened by the impending cliff, 
which has the appearance of being about to 
fall and crush all beneath it. A few vears 
since, the most projecting part of it fell, and 
now a large and very deep crack has widened 
around the remaining area of the platform 
above: yet, notwithstanding its fearful appear¬ 
ance, ladies and gentlemen crowd its broad 
summit at all hours—walking, drawing, and 
gazing—in the fullest confidence that rocks 


subserved by it. We hope that the planting 
of so many trees, which has rendered it unfit 
for the former purpose, will preserve it from 
that use in future, as it has done in a great 


have bases. And so it will go on. probably 
till the “ one (thunder) too many hammers 
through its crack of doom ! 
























































































































































































































































56 VIEW OF NIAGARA, “ WITHIN THE VEIL” 


The path leading behind the sheet of the 
“ Horse-Shoe Fall,” which is on the Canada 
side, runs close under the cliff of Table Rock ; 
and, between the spray and the small rivulets 
that trickle over the sharp edge, or find their 
way out of the numerous crevices on the face 
of the precipice, it is as wet as the lawn blest 
with “ perpetual rain” by the Witch of Atlas. 
A small shanty stands at the head of the stair¬ 
case, where a reading-room and registry are 
kept, and curious walking-sticks, cut at Niag¬ 
ara, minerals, spars, and stuffed scorpions, 
vended; the proprietor also officiating as guide 
under the falls. Parties are formed daily to 
visit this part of the falls, and “ go behind the 
sheet.” The mode of procedure is so inter¬ 
esting, that we will give an account of a visit 
to it:— 

The ladies were taken into a small apart¬ 
ment to change their dresses, preparatory to 
their descent; and the guide soon metamor¬ 
phosed his cavaliers into as brigand-looking a 
set of tatterdemalions as could be found in the 
Abruzzi. Rough duck trowsers, long jackets 
of green painted cloth, oil-skin hats, and flan¬ 
nel shirts—the whole turn-out very much like 
the’ clothes of the drowned, exhibited for rec¬ 
ognition at the mosque in Paris—constituted 
our habiliments. The difference of the female 
costume consisted in the substitution of a coarse 
petticoat for the trowsers, and a string tied 
over the broan-brimmed hat;—and thus ar¬ 
rayed, few would have known us or been wil¬ 
ling to recognise us as their friends. The most 
ludicrous part of the expedition is passing in 
review before the curious persons collected on 
the way. 

The guide went before, and we followed 
close under the cliff. A cold clammy wind 
blew strong in our faces from the moment we 
left the shelter of the staircase ; and a few 
steps brought us into a pelting, fine rain, that 
penetrated every opening of our dresses, and 
made our foothold very slippery and difficult. 
We were not yet near the sheet of water we 
were to walk through ; one of our party gave 
out and returned, declaring it was impossible 
to breathe ; the rest, imitating the guide, bent 
nearly double to keep the beating spray from 
their nostrils, and pushed on, with enough to 
do to keep sight of his feet. We arrived near 
the difficult point of our progress; and in the 
midst of a confusion of blinding gusts, half 
deafened, and more than half drowned, the 
guide stopped to give us a little counsel how 
to proceed the remainder of the way. All 
that could be heard amid the thunder of the 
cataract beside us was an injunction to push 
on when it got to the worst, as it was shorter 
to get beyond the sheet than to go back; and, 
with this pleasant statement of our dilemma, 
we faced about with the longest breath we 


could draw, and encountered the enemy. It 
may be supposed that every person who has 
been dragged through the column of water 
which obstructs the entrance to the cavern 
behind this cataract, has a very tolerable idea 
of the pains of drowning. What is wanting 
in the density of the element is more than 
made up by the force of the contending winds, 
which rush into the mouth, eyes, and nostrils, 
as if flying from a water-fiend. The “ cour¬ 
age of worse behind” alone persuades the 
gasping sufferer to take one desperate step 
more. 

It is difficult enough to breathe within ; but 
with a little self-control and management, the 
nostrils may be guarded from the watery par¬ 
ticles in the atmosphere, and then an impres¬ 
sion is made upon the mind by the extraordi¬ 
nary pavilion above and -around, which never 
loses its vividness. The natural bend of the 
falling cataract, and the backward shelve of 
the precipice, form an immense area like the 
interior of a tent, but so pervaded by dis¬ 
charges of mist and spray, that it is impossible 
to see far inward. Outward the light strug¬ 
gles brokenly through the crystal wall of the 
cataract; and when the sun shines directly on 
its face, it is a scene of unimaginable glory. 
The footing is rather unsteadfast, the path be¬ 
ing only a narrow shelf composed of loose and 
slippery stones. A chain has been fastened 
to the rock part of the way, which somewhat 
aids the visiter in the most dangerous portion 
of the passage. The distance from where the 
falls commence to “ Termination Rock” is 
two hundred and thirty feet. Beyond this 
point it is impossible for man to penetrate, as 
the ledge there rises perpendicularly from the 
water to the top of the falls. On the whole, 
the undertaking of a passage under the sheet 
is rather more pleasant to remember than to 
achieve. 

The following lines, written a few years 
since by the late Grenville Mellen, after 
going “within the veil” of Niagara, beauti¬ 
fully expresses the emotions produced in the 
minds of those who have witnessed the majes¬ 
tic scene:— 

O God ! — my prayer is to thee, amid sounds 
That rock the world ! I’ve seen thy majesty 
Within the veil! — I’ve heard the anthem shout 
Of a great ocean, as it leaped in mist 
About my thunder-shaken path ! — thy voice 
As centuries have heard it, in the rush 
And roar of waters! I have bent my brow 
Within thy rainbow— and have lifted up 
My shriek ’mid these vast cadences ! — I’ve seen 
What is the wonder of itersity — 

And what this visioned —nothingness of man ! 
Table Rock, August 22,1838. 




























































































































































































































































































































































































































58 TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 


TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND—NO. 2. 

BY HARRIET MARTINEAU. 

My room opened upon a little terrace—the 
flat roof of a lower apartment in our inn at 
Jerusalem, and from this little terrace I was 
never tired of gazing. A considerable por¬ 
tion of the city was spread out below me ; 
not with its streets laid open to view, as it 
would be in one of our cities; but presenting 
a collection of flat roofs, with small white cu¬ 
polas rising from them, and the minarets of 
the mosques springing, tall and light as the 
poplar from the long grass of the meadow. 
The narrow, winding lanes, which are the 
streets of eastern cities, are scarcely traceable 
from a height: but there was one visible from 
our terrace—with its rough pavement of large 
stones, the high housewalls on each side, and 
the arch thrown over it, which is so familiar 
to all who have seen pictures of Jerusalem. 
This street is called the Via Dolorosa, the 
Mournful Way, from its being supposed to 
be the way by which Jesus went from the 
Judgment Hall to Calvary, bearing his cross. 
Many times in a day my eye followed the 
windings of this street, in which I rarely saw 
any one walking: and when it was lost among 
the buildings near the walls, I looked over to 
the hill which bounded our prospect;—and 
that hill was the Mount of Olives. It was 
then the time of full moon, and evening after 
evening I used to lean on the parapet of the 
terrace, watching for the coming up of the 
large yellow moon from behind the ridge of 
Olivet. By day the slopes of the Mount 
were green with the springing wheat, and 
dappled with the shade of the olive clumps. 
By night, those clumps and lines of trees 
were dark amidst the lights and shadows cast 
by the moon; and they guided the eye, in 
the absence of daylight, to the most interest¬ 
ing points—the descent to the brook Kedron, 
the road to Bethany, and the place whence 
Jesus is believed to have looked over upon 
the noble city when he pronounced its doom. 
Such was the view from our terrace. 

One of our first walks was along the Via 
Dolorosa. There is a strange charm in the 
streets of Jerusalem, from the picturesque 
character of the walls and archways. The 
old walls of yellow stone are so beautifully 
tufted with weeds, that one longs to paint 
every angle and projection, with their mellow 
coloring, and dangling and trailing weeds. 
And the shadowy archways, where the vault¬ 
ed roofs intersect each other, till they are lost 
in the dazzle of the sunshine beyond, are a 
perpetual treat to the eye. The pavement 
is the worst I ever walked on; large, slippery 


stones, slanting all manner of ways. Passing 
such weedy walls and dark archways as I 
have mentioned, we turned into Via Dolorosa, 
and followed it as far as the Governor’s House, 
which stands where Fort Antonia stood when 
Pilate there tried Him in whom he found, as 
he declared, no guilt. Here we obtained per¬ 
mission to mount to the roof. 

Why did we wish it ? For reasons of such 
force as I despair of making understood by 
any but those to whom the name of the Tem¬ 
ple has been sacred from their earliest years. 
None but Mohammedans may enter the en¬ 
closure now ;—no Jew nor Christian. The 
Jew and Christian who repel each other in 
Christian lands are under the same ban here. 
They are alike excluded from the place where 
Solomon built and Christ sanctified the tem¬ 
ple of Jehovah; and they are alike mocked 
and insulted, if they draw near the gates. 
Of course, we were not satisfied without see¬ 
ing all that we could see of this place—now 
occupied by the mosque of Omar—the most 
sacred spot to the Mohammedans, after Mec¬ 
ca. We could sit under the Golden Gate, 
outside the walls : we could measure with the 
eye, from the bed of the brook Kedron, the 
height of the walls which crowned Moriah, 
and from amidst which once arose the temple ■ 
courts : we could sit where Jesus sat on the 
slope of Olivet, and look over to the height 
whence the glorious Temple once commanded 
the Valley of Jehoshaphat, which lay between 
us and it: but this was not enough, if we 
could see more. We had gone to the thresh¬ 
old of one of the gates, as far as the Faithful 
permit the infidel to go : and even there w r e 
had insulting warnings not to venture further, 
and were mocked by little boys. From this j 
threshold we had looked in; and from the top 
of the city wall we had looked down upon 
the enclosure, and seen the external beauty 
of the buildings, and the pride and prosperity 
of the Mohammedan usurpers. But we could 
see yet more from the roof of the governor’s 
house; and there we went accordingly. 

The enclosure was spread out like a map 
below us : and very beautiful was the mosque, 
built of variegated marbles, and its vast dome, 
and its noble marble platform, with its flights 
of steps and light arcades ; and the green lawn 
which sloped away all round, and the row of 
cypress trees under which a company of wor¬ 
shippers were at their prayers. But how 
could we, coming from a Christian land, at¬ 
tend much to present things, when the sacred 
past seemed spread before our eyes ? I was 
looking, almost all the while, to see where the 
Sheepgate was, through which the lambs for 
sacrifice were brought: and the Watergate, 
through which the priest went down to the 
spring of Siloam for water for the ritual pu- 














































































































































TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 


rification. I saw wliere the Temple itself 
must have stood, and planned how far the 
outer courts extended—the Court of the Gen¬ 
tiles, the Court of the Women, the Treasury, 
where the chest stood on the right of the en¬ 
trance, and the right hand might give without 
the left hand knowing: and the place where 
the scribes sat to teach, and where Christ so 
taught in their jealous presence as to make 
converts of those who were sent to apprehend 
him. I saw whereabouts the altar must have 
stood, and where arose, night and morning, 
for long centuries, the smoke of the sacrifices. 
I saw where the golden vine must have hung 
its clusters on the front of the Holy Place, 
and where, again, the innermost chamber must 
have been—the Holy of Holies, the dwelling- 
place of Jehovah, where none but the High 
Priest might enter, and he only once a year. 
These places have been familiar to my mind’s 
eye from my youth up;—almost as familiar 
as my own house ; and now I looked at the 
very ground they had occupied, and the very 
scenery they had commanded, with an emo¬ 
tion that the ignorant or careless reader of the 
New Testament could hardly conceive of. 
And the review of time was hardly less in¬ 
teresting than that of place. Here, my 
thoughts were led back to the early days when 
David and Solomon chose the ground and lev¬ 
elled the summit of Mount Moriah, and be¬ 


gan the Temple of Jehovah. 1 could see the 
lavishing of Solomon’s wealth upon the edi¬ 
fice, and the fall of its pomp under invaders 
who worshipped the sun; and the rebuilding 
in the davs of Nehemiah, when the citizens 
worked at the walls with arms in their girdles ; 
and in the full glory and security (as most of 
the Jews thought) of their Temple while they 
paid tribute to the Romans. O! the proud 
Mohammedans before my eyes were very like 
the proud Jews, who mocked at the idea that 
their temple should be thrown down. I saw 
now the area where they stood in their pride, 
and where before a generation had passed 
away, no stone was left upon another, and the 
plough was brought to tear up the last re¬ 
mains of the foundations. Having witnessed 
this heart-breaking sight, the Jews were ban- 
ished from the city, and were not even per¬ 
mitted to see their Zion from afar off. In the 
age of Constantine, they were allowed to ap¬ 
proach so as to see the city from the sur¬ 
rounding hills ;—a mournful liberty, like that 
of permitting an exile to see his native shores 
from the sea, but never to land. At length, 
the Jews were allowed to purchase of the 
Roman soldiers leave to enter Jerusalem once 
a year—on the day when the city fell before 
Titus. 

And what to do ? How did they spend that 
one day of the year? I will tell; for I saw 


Jerusalem. 


A Street in 

























































































Jews’ Place of Wailing—Temple Wall. 











































































































































































































































































62 


TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 


it. The mournful custom abides to this dav. 
I have said how proud and prosperous look¬ 
ed the Mosque of Omar, with its marble 
buildings, its green lawns, and gayly-dressed 
people—some at prayer under the cypresses, 
some conversing under the arcades;—female 
devotees in white sitting on the grass, and 
merry children running on the slopes :—all 
these ready and eager to stone to death on the 
instant, any Christian or Jew who should dare 
to set his foot within the walls. This is what 
we saw within. Next we went round the 
outside till we came, by a narrow crooked 
passage, to a desolate spot, occupied by deso¬ 
late people. Under a high, massive, and very 
ancient wall was a dusty narrow space, en¬ 
closed on the other side by the backs of mod¬ 
ern dwellings, if I remember right. This 
ancient wall, where the weeds are springing 
from the crevices of the stones, is the only 
part remaining of the old temple wall; and 
here the Jews come every Friday to their 
Place of Wailing, as it is called, to mourn 
over the fall of their temple, and pray for its 
restoration. What a contrast did these hum¬ 
bled people present to the proud Mohamme¬ 
dans within ! The women were seated in the 
dust—some wailing aloud, some repeating 
prayers with moving lips, and others reading 
them from books on their knees. A few chil¬ 
dren were at play on the ground; and some 
aged men sat silent, their heads drooped on 
their breasts. Several younger men were 
leaning against the wall—pressing their fore¬ 
heads against the stones, and resting their 
books on their clasped hands in the crevices. 
With some this wailing is no fonn : for I saw 
tears on their cheeks. I longed to know if 
any had hope in their hearts, that they or their 
children of any generation should pass that 
wall, and should help to swell the cry, “ Lift 
up your heads, O ye gates, that the King of 
Glory may come in !” If they have any such 
hope, it may give some sweetness to this rite 
of humiliation. We had no such hope for 
them; and it was with unspeakable sadness 
that I, for one, turned away from the thought 
of the pride and tyranny within those walls, 
and the desolation without, carrying with me 
a deep-felt lesson on the strength of human 
faith, and the weakness of the tie of brother¬ 
hood. 

Alas! all seem weak alike. Look at the 
three great places of prayer in the Holy City! 
Here are the Mohammedans eager to kill any 
Jew or Christian who may enter the Mosque 
of Omar. There are the Christians ready to 
kill any Mohammedan or Jew who may enter 
the church of the Holy Sepulchre. And 
here are the Jews pleading against their ene¬ 
mies : “ Remember, O Lord, the children of 
Edom in the day of Jerusalem, who said, raze 


it, raze it, even to the foundation thereof. O, 
daughter of Babylon that art to be destroyed, 
happy shall he be that rewardeth thee as thou 
hast served us. Happy shall he be that taketh 
and dasheth thy little ones against the stones!” 
Such are the things done and said in the name 
of Religion ! 

In connexion with what has been already 
related by Miss Martineau concerning the 
Mosque of Omar, we here introduce a more 
particular description, with an engraving 
drawn from a sketch made on the spot by F. 
Catherwood, Esq., who spent several years 
in the Holy Land for the purpose of obtain¬ 
ing views of the various places that have be¬ 
come hallowed to the Christian world. 

This splendid building occupies the site of 
the ancient temple erected by Solomon on 
“ Mount Moriah, where the Lord appeared 
unto David his father in the place that David 
had prepared in the thrashing-floor of Oman,” 
or Araunah, “ the Jebusite.” (1 Kings, vi., 
with 2 Chron., iii. 1.) It was erected by the 
calif Omar, and by the Moslems is reputed 
to be next in sanctity to the temple at Mecca. 
When Jerusalem was taken by the crusaders, 
it was converted into a Christian church; 
and when they finally abandoned the city, the 
victorious sultan Saladin caused the whole 
building to be washed with rosewater, by way 
of purification, before he would enter it. 

The Mosque, which is the finest piece of 
Saracenic architecture in existence, is a reg¬ 
ular octagon, each side being seventy feet in 
width; it is entered by four spacious doors 
facing the cardinal points, the Bab el Garb on 
the west, Bab nebbe Daoud, or Gate of Da vid, 
on the east, Bab el Kebla, or the Gate of 
Prayer, on the south, and Bab el Djinna, or 
the Gate of Heaven, on the north ; each of 
these entrances has a porch of timber-work, 
of considerable height, excepting Bab el Ke¬ 
bla, which has a fine portico, supported by 
eight Corinthian pillars of marble ; the lower 
part of the walls is faced with marble, evi¬ 
dently very ancient; it is white, with a slight 
tinge of blue, and pieces wholly blue are oc¬ 
casionally introduced with good effect; each 
face is panelled, the sides of the panels form¬ 
ing plain pilasters at the angles; the upper 
part is faced with small glazed tiles, about 
eight inches square, of various colors, blue 
being the prevailing, with passages from the 
Koran on them, forming a singular and beau¬ 
tiful Mosaic; the four plain sides have each 
seven well-proportioned windows of stained 
glass; the four sides of entrance have only 
six. The roof gently rises toward the per¬ 
pendicular part under the dome, which is also 
covered with colored tiles, arranged in various 
elegant devices. The dome is double ; it was 






















TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 63 


built by Solyman I., of a spherical form; is 
covered with lead, and crowned by a gilt 
crescent; the whole is ninety feet in height, 
and has a light and beautiful effect: the fan¬ 
ciful disposition of the soft colors above, con¬ 
trasting with the blue and white marble below, 
is extremely pleasing. 

The interior is paved with gray marble; 
and the walls, which are quite plain, are cov¬ 
ered with the same material, of a fine white 
color. Twenty-four pillars of marble, of a 
brownish color, form a concentric nave; the 
eight opposite the angles are square, without 
ornament; the other sixteen, being two to 
each face of the octagon, are round, well- 
proportioned, and about twenty feet in height, 
with capitals of a composite style, gilt; above 
is a plain plinth, and twenty-four small arches 
supporting the roof, which is wrought in com¬ 
partments, and gilt in exquisite taste. A 
second circle of sixteen pillars, four square 
and twelve round, based on an elevation in the 
floor, to which there is an ascent of four steps, 
and having capitals, a plinth, and arches, as 
before, supports the dome, the interior of 
which is finely painted and gilt in arabesque ; 
from the centre are suspended several antique 
vessels of gold and silver, offerings of some 
pious Mohammedans. Immediately beneath 
the dome, surrounded by a high iron railing, 
gilt, with only one gate of entrance, is an im¬ 
mense mass of limestone, of an irregular form, 
probably part of the rock on which the 
Mosque stands; it is named El Hadjera el 
Sahhara Allah, the Locked-up Stone of God, 
and is held in the highest veneration. The 
tradition respecting it is, that it fell from heav¬ 
en when the spirit of prophecy commenced ; 
that all the ancients to whom it was given 
prophesied from it; and that on this rock sat 
the angel of death, who, upon David’s incon¬ 
siderate numbering of the people, slaughtered 
until God “ commanded him to put up his 
sword again into the sheath thereof.” (1 
Chron. xxi. 7.) At the time the prophets fled 
from Jerusalem, the stone wished to accom¬ 
pany them, but was prevented by the angel 
Gabriel, who forcibly held it (the marks of 
his fingers still remain) until the arrival of 
Mohammed, who, by his prayers, fixed it for 
ever to the spot. Mohammed, in the twelfth 
year of his mission, made his celebrated night 
journey from Mecca to Jerusalem on the 
beast el Borak, accompanied by the angel 
Gabriel, as described in the 17th chapter of 
the Koran; and having paid his devotions, 
ascended from this stone to heaven; the rock, 
sensible of the happiness, became soft, and 
the print of the prophet’s foot remains to this 
day, an object of great veneration to all true 
believers. Some years back a portion of the 
rock was stolen by the Christians; but no 


sooner had they got it out of the Mosque than 
it became invisible to them, and was after¬ 
ward. discovered by the Mussulmans. The 
rock is enclosed by a low wooden railing, and 
covered by a canopy of green and red satin; 
immediately beneath it is a natural chamber, 
called the “ Ennobled Cavern of God,” an ir¬ 
regular square chamber, eighteen feet each 
way, and eight in the highest part, above 
which is a hole through the rock, called the 
“ Hole of Mohammed.” Five small cavities 
around are inscribed as the places of Solomon, 
David, Abraham, Gabriel, and St. John. It 
also contains the Well of Souls, or entrance 
to the infernal regions. This mosque further 
contains the praying-place and footstep of our 
Lord Idris; the praying-place, sword (four¬ 
teen feet long), and standard of Ali, nephew 
of Mohammed; the scales for weighing the 
souls of men; the shield of Mohammed ; the 
birds of Solomon; the pomegranates of Da¬ 
vid ; and the saddle of El Borak ; on a wood¬ 
en desk, an original copy of the Koran, the 
leaves of which are four feet in length. In 
the outer circle there is a well, at which 
believers wash and drink ; and near the west¬ 
ern entrance is a slab of green marble, forming 
part of the floor, which has the marks of hav¬ 
ing been pierced by eighteen nails of silver ; 
three of these and a portion of a fourth only 
remain, the others having at different times 
disappeared, in order to mark the completion 
of certain great epochs. The remainder are 
to follow ; and when the last takes its depart¬ 
ure, the fulness of time will be complete and 
the world end. It is also said that the nails 
were pulled out by the devil, in his attempts 
to enter paradise by this door. 

This Mosque belongs especially to the prin¬ 
cipal and most respected Mussulman sect, 
that of the Hanifites (so called from Hanifah 
its founder), and has been kept sacred from 
the approach of Christians until very recently. 
Here, and in the Mosque at Mecca, the Mus¬ 
sulman believes his prayers to be more ac¬ 
ceptable to God than anywhere else. It is 
believed by the Moslems that all the prophets, 
since the time of Adam, have come here to 
pray and prophesy ; and that even now they 
come in invisible troops, accompanied by an¬ 
gels, to pray on the Sahhara. The usual 
guard of this holy stone is seventy thousand 
angels, who are relieved every day. One 
hundred and eighty lamps are lighted at night 
in this Mosque. _ 

Popular Instruction. —To instruct man¬ 
kind in things most excellent, and to honor 
and applaud those learned men Avho perform 
this service with industry and care, is a duty, 
the performance of which must procure the 
love of all good men. 










64 GENIUS SUPERIOR TO THE SWORD. 


GENIUS SUPERIOR TO THE SWORD. 

The design of the present work is to carry 
light and knowledge into the “highways and 
by-ways,” and to the very hearths of the peo¬ 
ple. And what are the people, or any nation, 
without knowledge ? Through the influence 
of good publications how many are daily 
snatched from the haunts of vice and immor¬ 
ality ? We see them sitting at their firesides, 
reading or listening to some moral and in¬ 
structive article. They wonder they have 
been asleep so long; they are roused to vir¬ 
tuous action; they begin to feel their respon¬ 
sibilities ; the appetite for knowledge has com¬ 
menced—useful and religious books are cheap 
—a trifle saved out of the hard earnings of 
the industrious fanner or mechanic, furnishes 
sufficient aliment for the intellectual man; 
the way is paved for greater advances, both 
in a moral and religious point of view. 

What a change has been wrought in the 
last half century ! But a few hundred years 
ago, and the world was sunk in barbarism. 
Germany, Franee, Britain, and other Europe¬ 
an countries, abounded in mighty forests, al¬ 
most impervious to light; their surface was 
covered by stagnant pools of water, and wild 
and dreary morasses, injurious to the health 
of man, and tenanted by animals that proved 
civilization to be yet in abeyance. The in¬ 
habitants were rude and unlettered ; reading 
and writing, the absolute foundation of all 
learning and civilization, formed no portion of 
their education; nor were they governed in 
any respect by well-defined laws, though tra¬ 
dition and practice had certainly formed the 
rude outlines of codes that were perhaps suf¬ 
ficient for their wants, or congenial to their 
tastes and habits. The power that has inter¬ 
vened to change so dark a picture into one of 
brilliancy and light is Genius. Even now 
the world would be involved in ignorance to a 
greater extent than were the Canadas before 
the discovery of America by Christopher Co¬ 
lumbus, were it not that men of genius applied 
their intellect for the purpose of advancement 
in arts and science. It is a mistaken notion 
that ordinary minds act in any way intellect¬ 
ually for the advancement of their kind ; too 
frequently they are a mere drag, and impede 
progress ; in such cases genius lias not only to 
labor to discover the laws of nature, but has 
likewise to combat the apathy as well as the 
ignorance of mankind, in order so to overcome 
prejudice and inertia as to be enabled to apply 
its inventions to the advantage of its age and 
of posterity. We do not contend that genius 
is clogged in its onward progress by all ordi¬ 
nary minds : so far from such being the case, 
it has in all ages derived vital aid from many 
who, though incapable themselves of throw¬ 


ing light upon matter hitherto deemed for ever 
dark, have had, notwithstanding, the most 
hearty sympathy with men of thought, and 
have struggled arduously, enduring sacrifices 
with stern determination, actuated by the love 
of truth, and filled with anxiety for the regen¬ 
eration of their fellow-men. 

The most simple domestic utensil has 
caused intense thought in many minds before 
it could be wrought into its present state, in¬ 
significant as it may now seem, after all the 
time and study that have been bestowed upon 
it: but when we recollect how slowly im¬ 
provements take place, even in the present 
day, considering the amount of intellect ap¬ 
plied, one can hardly be astonished. In gen¬ 
eral conversation in mixed society, Watt is 
usually termed the inventor of the steam- 
engine, and admiration is in consequence ex¬ 
clusively devoted to him. Let all praise be 
given to genius; but we should carefully 
avoid giving one inventor more than his due, 
or we detract from the merits of others. Watt 
invented the condenser. The steam-engine 
was at work in several mines long before 
steam was condensed by this invention; and 
since Watt’s time numerous excellent improve¬ 
ments have been made. Thus we observe it 
took many extraordinary minds a very long 
time to complete that great work the steam- 
engine ; and even now, if we judge from the 
improvements continually being effected, it 
would appear that it is far from perfection. 
Now what endless gratitude is due to those 
noble intellects whose workshops have erected 
such admirable and endurable trophies, and 
without whose efforts the world at the present 
time would be but a barren waste, with the 
human species scarcely elevated above the 
lower animals. Every step of progress has 
been gained by the toiling of genius—by the 
reflections of men of superior endowments. 
The musket of the soldier has been fashioned, 
not by himself, but by the application of su¬ 
perior intelligence furnished by the philoso¬ 
pher ; and although the general may gain 
laurels for destroying his thousands, have 
monuments erected to his memory when dead, 
and occupy a page in history, yet, be it re¬ 
membered, the means which he used—the 
means employed by his troops—were discov¬ 
ered and invented by minds infinitely superior 
to his own—by an aggregate of mind each in¬ 
dividual portion of which, fashioned a link in 
the chain of progress. 

It is fashionable in Europe, and also in this 
country, to erect monuments to celebrated 
warriors. The class privileges of the world 
have grown out of war. There is more feu¬ 
dalism in this day than men think of: a war- 
loving people must always be beneath the hoof 
of military despotism; a greater curse to a 













GENIUS SUPERIOR TO THE SWORD. 


65 


country can not be conceived—it is natural 
that it should be so. In a nation whose gen¬ 
eral intelligence is its safeguard and protection, 
intelligence will be respected ; in a nation 
whose trading interests are safeguard and pro¬ 
tection, trade will be respected; in a nation 
prone to war, fencing itself all round with the 
fort and the pike, and relying upon the genius 
of battle for protection, the warrior will be 
most respected. Who among us equals the 
warrior in honor ? Seldom, oh ! how seldom, 
is the poet or the philosopher pecuniarily re¬ 
warded, or honored with the title of greatness. 

Monopoly of legislation, monopoly of trade, 
will be found to be children of war. If war 
were abolished and brought into disrepute, and 
the military man were regarded as a kind of 
“ Jack Ketch” as he is in China, things would 
soon return to their natural level. How ar¬ 
rived this shameful inequality of property in 
the Old World, to so alarming a height? 
Whence the appalling poverty ? Whence the 
the pageantry, the magnificence of wealth ? 
Whence that numerous class, who, though 
rich, have neither brilliant talents nor sublime 
virtues ? Whence the insolence and the 
usurpation of the rich, the legislation of 
wealth against poverty, and a crowd of disa¬ 
bilities and evils beneath which man is com¬ 
pelled to labor ? If we are asked the reason 
of all these, how easy to prove that, while 
they are the sad fruit of the monster sin, they 
are immediately caused by war ! War wins 
countries, and war grasps them, and the fruits 
of the victory are in the pockets of the chil¬ 
dren of warriors; the places of power are 
awarded to them; for them the jewelled tiara 
and the ermine robe. Who does not perceive 
in the war system a complicated machinery, 
set up for the purpose of retaining in idleness 
the scions of titled warriors, whose names and 
wealth may thus be transmitted to a remote 
posterity ? 

Now we do not for a moment contend that 
men who were supposed to have rendered 
their country essential aid, should be deprived 
of any honor that a grateful country can be¬ 
stow. Officers and soldiers often fight, actu¬ 
ated by the purest feelings of patriotism, and 
only wishing by sacrificing the foe to add to 
their country’s glory, losing sight, at the time, 
or probably having no idea of their own indi¬ 
vidual accountability hereafter, for each soul 
hurried by them, unprepared, into eternity ! 
Let us, however, waive this strong argument 
against war, and see whether upon the old- 
fashioned notions of national etiquette and 
honor, the present one can be justified or not. 
Possibly it can, but if we do not depart from 
such notions, “honor” will be a very expen¬ 
sive item. We can maintain this “honor,” 
if we will pay for it. We always thought 


that at the close of the Revolution, the nation 
established for itself a new code of honor, and 
rose above the maxims which monarchs found 
so convenient for improper purposes. This 
was to be our glory, and until the present war, 
we were respected everywhere as a people 
who, intent on the arts of peace, and distin¬ 
guished by the universality of education, lib¬ 
erty, and competence, would not seek the bat¬ 
tle, nor shun it when it came. 

The laboring men, or “ producing classes,” 
are those who, throughout Christendom, pay 
nine tenths of the revenue of their respective 
govemments. The national debts of the va¬ 
rious Christian countries contracted for wars, 
amount in the aggregate to $7,500,000,000. 
The interest on nine tenths of this sum at 5 
per cent., is about $337,000,000. In the next 
thirty years the working-men of Christendom 
will have to pay $10,000,000,000 for interest 
on this debt. Think how many days’ work 
this is at 75 cents a day. 

This is not all that we pay, for it does not 
include the “ preparations” for war. For 
these, the working-men of Christendom have 
paid (luring the last 32 years, $21,500,000,000. 
This expense is annually growing heavier in 
the United States, Britain, France, and many 
other countries. A writer, under the signa¬ 
ture of “A Working-Man of America,” makes 
the following estimate :— 

“ There are at least 2,500,000 able-bodied 
men in the standing armies of Christendom ; 
all able-bodied men these, according to the 
surgeon’s certificate, which is never asked, 
when men are wanted merely to mow, plough, 
and sow, and make stone-wall, or for any vul¬ 
gar utilitarian purpose. Every common sol¬ 
dier is taken from the laboring class; we feel 
sure of that. The population embracing the 
laboring classes of any country will not aver¬ 
age more than one “ able-bodied man,” ac¬ 
cording to the surgeon’s military standard, to 
every ten individuals. Then it would take 
out all the able-bodied men from 25,000,000 
of the people to raise the standing army of 
2,500,000 which has been kept up in Chris¬ 
tendom ever since the day of Waterloo. Now, 
instead of being drilled into mere machines 
for murder, suppose these 2,500,000 able- 
bodied men had been employed in some pro¬ 
ductive labor, even at the low rate of less 
than 25 cents a day, the hard-earned money 
paid by laboring men since 1815 in preparing 
for war, amounts, including interest, to nearly 
$39,400,000,000.” _ 

The war appropriations of this country since 
the present war with Mexicp began, are 
$80,873,062. 

The appropriations for the same objects at 
the present session of Congress, should the 
war continue during the present year, will 


5 










WOMAN. 


66 


probably exceed ratlier than fall short of fifty 
millions of dollars. 

These estimates say nothing of the value 
of the poor withdrawn from useful pursuits, 
and the consequent loss to the country, nor 
state how many of our people and of the en¬ 
emy must yearly by these means sink to their 
graves. 

But the pen and not the sword must soon 
become the weapon of progress. The think¬ 
ers are gaining ground ; and even now the tide 
of public favor toward the heroes of the 
sword, is somewhat slackening in its course; 
and we believe there will soon be a radical 
and permanent change in the feelings of man¬ 
kind, on this and kindred topics. Men of 
thought—men of genius—are now looked up 
to with reverence and love. The inventor of 
the simplest aid in the cause of human prog¬ 
ress will soon be regarded as one of the ben¬ 
efactors of mankind. 

What progress, however, can a people 
make in the cause of peace and humanity, so 
long as the doctrines of Christianity are repre¬ 
sented as upholding, or rather justifying war 
and revenge ? The fruits of such teachings 
can easily be conceived. We can not be the 
genuine descendents of the pilgrim fathers or 
William Penn, for their spirit and conduct had 
no share in the formation of these sentiments, 
at least as understood and practised by many 
at the present day. But let us hope, that 
with the progress of time, the increasing in¬ 
telligence of the age, and the growing venera¬ 
tion for that sublime and heavenly doctrine 
which teaches us to “ forgive our enemies, 
persecutors, and slanderers,” and to pray that 
their “hearts may be turnedin accordance 
with that religion which was given to establish 
“ peace on earth, and good-will toward man,” 
these sentiments will soon be among the things 
that are past; and that in this country, and 
throughout the Christian world, at least, the 
sentiment of the heart may be more in unison 
with the language of the lips: “Forgive us 
our trespasses, as we forgive those who tres¬ 
pass against us.” When we shall utter this 
prayer with sincerity of heart, and act up to 
the principles of Christianity, as well as pro¬ 
fess them, wars, duels, and other evils, will be 
banished from the world, and forgiveness of 
injuries be regarded as more dignified and no¬ 
ble than murder and revenge. 

Self-love is a principle in human nature 
of such extensive energy, and the interest of 
each individual is, in general, so closely con¬ 
nected with that of the community, that those 
philosophers were almost excusable, who fan¬ 
cied that all our concern for the public might 
be resolved into a concern for our own happi¬ 
ness and preservation. 


WOMAN. 

In all the exciting scenes of life, woman is 
the most sensitive. If they be joyous, she is 
the first to smile; if they be sorrowful, she is 
the first to weep. When a company have 
assembled, when all is unbroken silence, and 
the men seem not to know what to say, nor 
how to say it, her animated tongue is the first 
to relieve the embarrassment, enliven the 
scene, and set all other tongues in motion. 
Whatever may be the ceremony, she is the 
first to enter into the spirit of the occasion. 
In the moment of danger she is the most con¬ 
scious, yet the most self-possessed, while she 
most skilfully parries the impending blow. In 
love, she is the most ardent, yet the most 
modest. 

Amid the domestic trials of her household, 
hers are the first and deepest pangs; yet she 
is the most patient under them. In the afflic¬ 
tions of others, her wanner heart is the first 
to sympathize, while her kinder hand is first 
extended to bless, to solace, and to save. 
However evil association may sometimes per¬ 
vert her nature, these traits are her instinctive, 
primeval virtues, which, while they elicit the 
profound respect of man, claim for her his 
sympathy and prompt assistance, under all 
the trying circumstances of life, whether he 
happen to be a brother, a neighbor, or a stran¬ 
ger. The Americans are noted for their 
civility to the ladies, above the people of all 
other nations; yet more kindness would be 
still better, and more just as well as more 
natural. 

Woman is the first to befriend and the last 
to desert. Like Mary, “she is last at the 
cross and first at the grave.” The greater a 
man’s misfortunes, the deeper his disgrace, the 
more he is forsaken by the world, the closer 
she clings to him, even more eager to share 
his sorrows than his joys. Though his path 
lead through flowery plains of pleasure, or 
the shadowy vale of sorrow, yet to the very 
brink of the grave is she found close by his 
side, and though barren and dreary be their 
journey of life, she gathers as she goes the 
few isolated flowers that grow by the way, 
with which she tries to comfort him, and 

THOUGH HER HEART BE BREAKING, CHEERS 

him with her smiles. As the meteor 
shines brighter with the increasing darkness, 
so her benign spirit sheds its brightest lustre 
upon his darkest hours. 

When man’s path in life is beset with 
troubles on every hand—when his spirit is 
home down to the earth—when none else will 
heed his cries, and he is about to faint by the 
way—when life is a burden, and relief can 
nowhere be found but in death—then woman 
flies to his rescue, and with that sweetest balm 









STEUBENVILLE, OIHO. 


for a wounded spirit—with her words of con¬ 
solation, she revives the courage that is about 
to falter, soothes the heart that is ready to 
break, and, as a blessed convoy, by her smile 
and song, leads him gently and safely through 
all the bleak deserts of life. 

When man looks back upon the troubled 
sea of life—when he beholds its mountain 
surges about to overwhelm him—and when, 
as he starts forward, he sees the Jordan of 
Death lying before him—when he is about to 
sink down in despair and die, woman comes 
as his deliverer, and by her tears and prayers, 
opens a way for his escape ! 

As the lily is borne down beneath the wa¬ 
ters by the rapid current, and yet rises again 
to adorn the surface of the stream—as the 
rose is crushed to the earth, and vet rises 
again with an elastic spring, to gladden with 
its beauty the eye of him who had humbled 
it—so woman, like the lily, is submerged be¬ 
neath the waves of the troubled waters of 
life, yet her buoyant spirit rises again above 
them—so woman, like the rose, is crushed 
beneath the iron heel of the tyrant man (made 
a tyrant by the intoxicating draught), yet 
she rises again to resume the duties of her 
household, as if nothing had happened—to 
feed and clothe the man who had robbed both 
her and her helpless offspring of their own 
food and raiment—daily to forgive his daily 
crimes and to kiss the lips that cursed her, 
and press the hand that smote her! 

Though she rise at early dawn, and toil on 
till her midnight lamp goes out, only for want 
of means to replenish it, slowly to earn what 
he so quickly spends, for that which rewards 
her industry—not, as she had hoped, with the 
comforts of life, but with its worst miseries. 
Though with a broken heart, and weeping 
eyes, and feeble hands, she earns money to 
buy bread, which he expends for that which 
draws down violence upon her own head, and 
though under the influence of “ liquid poison,” 
he daily abuses her, yet in the forgiving spirit 
of her Savior on the cross, she exclaims, 
“ He knows not what he does ! he is not him¬ 
self!” While she patiently drinks the cup 
of misery, he presents to her its very dregs, 
and though he robs her of everything dear to 
life, she can not or will not believe him her 
enemy ! If, by dissipation, he reduce her to 
poverty and abject want—while her children 
are crying for bread, she forbears to partake 
of the scanty repast, though she starve her¬ 
self, till she has appeased the hunger of her 
famishing family. However heart-rending her 
troubles, she patiently bears them, while her 
noble spirit forbears to call for assistance. 

She not only binds up the wounds of her 
own household, but wanders forth into the 
world to seek out other objects of charity. 


67 


She foregoes her own comfort to promote the 
comfort of others, and perils her own life to 
rescue others—as did the Mexican woman, 
shot dead on the battle-field in Mexico, as she 
carried water between the two contending ar¬ 
mies, with which she moistened the parched 
lips of the wounded and dying, not only of 
the Mexicans, but of the Americans also. 
Thus did the mercy of woman cope with the 
cruelty of men, by striving to sooth the 
wounds of both parties, while fresher wounds 
were yet being inflicted by both ! Woman¬ 
like, with the impartial sympathy of true be¬ 
nevolence—God-like, in the noble and divine 
spirit of her Savior, she stayed not her hand 
in her work of mercy till she had blessed both 
friends and enemies, and offered up her life in 
the cause of suffering humanity ! 

Where woman is, there is home. Hard is 
the fate of that man who hath not the sweet 
counsels of woman to ease his varied trials, 
and soften the asperities of life—nor her 
cheering smiles, as a mental sunshine, to chase 
away the clouds of despondency that rest 
upon his soul. And how hard is the death 
of that man who hath not woman by his side 
in the character of a sister, wife, or mother, 
as a visible guardian angel, to smooth his dy¬ 
ing pillow—to wipe the deatli-damp from his 
brow—to clasp his pale hand—to bedew with 
his tears his burning cheek—to kiss his quiv¬ 
ering lips, and to whisper an affectionate 
adieu to his sinking spirit as it recedes from 
the world, into the dark unfathomable and 
unknown abyss of death! 


STEUBENVILLE, OHIO. 

This lively place, which has wholly grown 
up with the present century, does all in its 
power, which is not inconsiderable, to ac¬ 
quire the size and bulkiness of other and 
older cities. It took to itself the west bank 
of the Ohio, together with scenery of the 
fairest kind upon this fairest of rivers. It 
commenced with great order and regularity 
to build itself up in a proper and convenient 
city-like manner, and thence has continued 
steadily and rapidly to advance. It has, like 
all other American towns however small, its 
churches, academies, printing-offices, and 
manufactories, each and all sufficient for the 
needs and enterprise of a growing population. 
In 1830 its population was 2,937 ; in 1840, 
5,203. 

The name of this place is one of the few 
names of a foreign origin which we recognise 
with feelings of grateful pleasure. It was so 
named in honor of Baron Steuben, a most gal- 











View of Steubenville, Ohio, 











































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































WASHINGTON’S RESIDENCE IN NEW YORK. 69 


lant and efficient officer of the revolutionary 
army. 

Frederic William, or, as he was generally 
called, Baron Steuben, was a distinguished 
Prussian, of birth and eminence that might 
entitle him to the highest honors in his own 
country, which he abandoned, as did Lafay¬ 
ette, to fight in the ranks of freedom in Amer¬ 
ica. He had been an aid to the great Fred¬ 
eric, where he could not but learn the most 
exact military discipline, the most accom¬ 
plished mode of battering down walls of flesh 
and blood. 

The skill and hardihood thus acquired were 
of inestimable value to the American armv. 
Steuben, who had modestly offered himself 
as ready to take any position where he could 
best serve the great cause of human freedom, 
was at once appointed inspector-general, with 
the rank of major-general; and perhaps he 
did more than any other man, during the 
whole of the eventful period from 1777 to the 
close of the war, to introduce a system of 
uniform military tactics among the brave and 
devoted, but most raw and undisciplined men 
comprising the army of the Revolution. Steu¬ 
ben fought at the battle of Monmouth, and 
commanded the trenches at Yorktown. He 
was almost adored by the soldiery, such was 
his goodness of heart combined with his cour¬ 
teous and soldier-like manners. At the close 
of the war, a veteran who had fought under 
him, went the distance of some leagues to 
acquaint the general of his recent state of pa¬ 
ternity, and that he had named the child after 
his old commander. “ And what do you call 
the boy?” asked Steuben. “Why, Baron, 
to be sure, your honor.” 

Steuben found himself poor, as did all other 
patriots, at the close of the war. Eventually, 
the state of New York granted him an exten¬ 
sive tract of land, and congress voted him a 
reward of some thousands. He died upon a 
farm in the vicinity of New York, and was 
buried, according to his own orders, in his 
military cloak, in a nameless grave. 


WASHINGTON'S RESIDENCE IN NEW 

YORK. 

From the Recollections and Private Me¬ 
moirs of the Life and Character of Wash¬ 
ington, by his adopted son, G. W. P. Cus- 
tis, Esq., we extract the following account 
of Washington’s residence in New York :— 
On the 30th of April, 1789, the constitu¬ 
tional government of the United States began, 
by the inauguration in the city of New York, 


of George Washington as president of the 
United States. 

In the then limited extent and improvement 
of the city, there was some difficulty in se¬ 
lecting a mansion for the residence of the 
chief magistrate, and a household suitable to 
his rank and station. Osgood’s house, a man¬ 
sion of very moderate extent, situated in 
Cherry street, was at length fixed upon. 
There the president became domiciled. His 
domestic family consisted of Mrs. Washing¬ 
ton, the two adopted children, Mr. Lear as 
principal secretary, Colonel Humphreys, with 
Messrs. Lewis and Nelson, secretaries, and 
Major Wm. Jackson, aid-de-camp. 

Persons visiting the house in Cherry street 
at this day will wonder how a building so 
small could contain the many and mighty 
spirits that thronged its halls in olden days. 
Congress, cabinet, all public functionaries, in 
the commencement of the government, were 
selected from the very elite of the nation. 
Pure patriotism, commanding talent, eminent 
services, were the proud and indispensable 
requisites for official station in the first days 
of the republic. The first congress was a 
most enlightened and dignified body. In the 
senate were several of the members of the 
congress of 1776 and signers of the Declara¬ 
tion of Independence—Richard Henry Lee, 
who moved the Declaration, John Adams, 
who seconded it, with Sherman, Morris, Car- 
roll, &c. 

The levees of the first president were at¬ 
tended by these illustrious patriots and states¬ 
men, and by many other of the patriots, 
statesmen, and soldiers, who could say of the 
Revolution, “magna pars fui while num¬ 
bers of foreigners and strangers of distinction 
crowded to the seat of the general government, 
all anxious to witness the grand experiment 
that was to determine how much rational lib¬ 
erty mankind is capable of enjoying, without 
said liberty degenerating into licentiousness. 

Mrs. Washington’s drawing-rooms, on Fri¬ 
day nights, were attended by the grace and 
beauty of New York. On one of these oc¬ 
casions an incident occurred which might have 
been attended by serious consequences. Ow¬ 
ing to the lowness of the ceiling in the draw¬ 
ing-room, the ostrich feathers in the head¬ 
dress of Miss MTver, a belle of New York, 
took fire from the chandelier, to the no small 
alarm of the company. Major Jackson, aid- 
de-camp to the president, with great presence 
of mind and equal gallantry, flew to the res¬ 
cue, and by clapping the burning plumes be¬ 
tween his hands extinguished the flames, and 
the drawing-room went on as usual. 

Washington preserved the habit, as well in 
public as in private life, of rising at four 
o’clock and retiring to bed at nine. On Sat- 













70 WASHINGTON’S RESIDENCE IN NEW YORK. 


urdays lie rested somewhat from his labors, 
by either riding into the country, attended by 
a groom, or with his family in his coach drawn 
by six horses. 

Fond of horses, the stables of the president 
were always in the finest order, and his 
equipage excellent both in taste and quality. 
Indeed, so long ago as the days of the vice¬ 
regal court of Lord Botetourt, at Williams¬ 
burg, in Virginia, we find that there existed 
a rivalry between the equipages of Colonel 
Boyd, a magistrate of the old regime, and 
Colonel Washington—the grays against the 
bays. Bishop, the celebrated body-servant 
of Braddock, was the master of Washington's 
stables. And there were what was termed 
muslin horses in those old days. At cock¬ 
crow the stable-boys were at work; at sun¬ 
rise Bishop stalked into the stables, a muslin 
handkerchief in his hand which he applied to 
the coats of the animals, and if the slightest 
stain was perceptible upon the muslin, up 
went the luckless wights of the stable-boys, 
and punishment was administered instanter; 
for to the veteran Bishop, bred amid the iron 
discipline of European armies, mercy for any¬ 
thing like a breach of duty was altogether 
out of the question. . 

The president’s stables in Philadelphia 
were under the direction of German John, 
and the grooming of the white chargers will 
rather surprise tlie moderns. The night be¬ 
fore the horses were expected to be rode, they 
were covered entirely over with a paste of 
which whiting was a component part; then 
the animals were swathed in body-cloths, and 
left to sleep on clean straw. In the morning 
the composition had become hard, it was well 
rubbed in, and curried and brushed, which 
process gave to the coats a beautiful, glossy, 
and satin-like appearance. The hoofs were 
then blacked and polished, the mouths washed, 
teeth pricked and cleaned; and the leopard- 
skin housings being properly adjusted, the 
white chargers w r ere led out for service. Such 
was the grooming of ancient times. 

There was but one theatre in New York 
in 1798 (in John street), and so small w'ere its 
dimensions that the whole fabric might easily 
be placed on the stage of one of our modem 
theatres. Yet humble as was the edifice, it 
possessed an excellent company of actors and 
actresses, including old Morris, who was the 
associate of Garrick, in the very outset of that 
great actor’s career at Goodmanfields. The 
stage-boxes were appropriated to the presi¬ 
dent and vice-president, and were each of 
them decorated with emblems, trophies, &c. 
On the play-bills were the words, “ Vivat Re¬ 
publican' Washington often visited this the¬ 
atre, being much gratified by Wignell’s per¬ 
formance of Darby in the Poor Soldier. 


It was in the theatre in John street that the 
now national air of “ Hail Columbia,” then 
called the “ President’s March,” was first 
played. It was composed by a German mu¬ 
sician, named Fyles, the leader of the orches¬ 
tra, in compliment to the president. The na¬ 
tional air will last as long as the nation lasts, 
while the meritorious composer has been long 
since forgotten. 

It was while residing in Cherry street that 
the president was attacked with a severe ill¬ 
ness, that required a surgical operation. He 
was attended by the elder and the younger 
Drs. Bard. The elder being somewdiat doubt¬ 
ful of his nerves, gave the knife to his son, 
telling him to cut away—“ deeper, deeper 
still ; don’t be afraid; you see how well he 
bears it.” Great anxiety was felt in New 
York at this time, as the president's case was 
considered extremely dangerous. Happily, 
the operation proved successful, and the pa¬ 
tient’s recovery removed all cause of alarm. 
During the illness a chain was stretched 
across the street, and the sidewalks laid with 
straw. Soon after his recovery, the president 
set out on a tour through the New England 
states. 

The president’s mansion was so limited in 
accommodation that three of the secretaries 
were compelled to occupy one room—Hum¬ 
phreys, Lewis, and Nelson. Humphreys, 
aid-de-camp to the commander-in-chief at 
Yorktown, was a most estimable man, and at 
the same time a poet. About this period he 
was composing his “ Widow of Malabar.” 
Lewis and Nelson, both young men, were 
content, after the labors of the day, to enjoy 
a good night’s repose. But this was often 
denied them; for Humphreys when in the 
vein, would rise from his bed at any hour, 
and with stentorian voices, recite his verses. 
The young men, roused from their slumbers, 
and rubbing their eyes, beheld a great burly 
figure “ en chemise ,” striding across the floor, 
reciting with emphasis particular passages of 
his poem, and calling on his room-mates for 
their approbation. Having in this -way for a 
considerable time “ murdered the sleep” of 
his associates, Humphreys, at length w’earied 
by his exertions, would sink upon his pillow 
in a kind of dreamy languor. So sadly were 
the young secretaries annoyed by the frequent 
outbursts of the poet’s imagination, that it 
was remarked of them by their friends, that 
from 1789 to the end of their lives, neither 
Robert Lewis nor Thomas Nelson were ever 
known to evince the slightest taste for poetry. 

The mansion in Cherry street proving so 
very inconvenient, induced the French am¬ 
bassador to give up his establishment—M‘- 
Comb’s new house in Broadway—for the ac¬ 
commodation of the president. It was from 












WASHINGTON'S RESIDENCE IN NEW YORK. 71 


this house that Washington in 1790 took his 
final departure from New York. It was al¬ 
ways his habit to endeavor, as much as possi¬ 
ble, to avoid the manifestations of affection 
and gratitude that met him everywhere. He 
strove in vain; he was closely watched and 
the people would have their way. He wished 
to have slipped off unobserved from New 
York, and thus steal a march upon his old 
companions in arms. But there were too 
many of the dear glorious old veterans of the 
Revolution at that time of day in and near 
New York to render such an escape even 
possible. 

The baggage had all been packed up ; the 
horses, carriages, and servants ordered to be 
over the ferry in Paulus Hook by daybreak, 
and nothing was wanting for departure but 
the dawn. The lights were yet burning, 
when the president came into the room where 
his family were assembled, evidently much 
pleased in the belief that all was right, when, 
immediately under the windows, the band of 
the artillery struck up Washington’s March. 
“ There,” he exclaimed, “ its all over; we are 
found out. Well, well, they must have their 
own way.” New York soon after appeared 
as if taken by storm; troops and persons of 
all descriptions, hurrying down Broadway 
toward the place of embarkation, all anxious 
to take a last look on him whom so many 
could never expect to see again. 

The embarkation was delayed until all com¬ 
plimentary arrangements were completed. 
The president, after taking leave of many 
dear and cherished friends, and many an old 
companion in arms, stepped into the barge 
that was to convey him from New York for 
ever. The coxswain gave the word, “Let 
fall;” the spray from the oars sparkled in the 
morning sunbeam; the bowsman shoved off 
from the pier, and the barge swung round to 
the tide; Washington rose, uncovered in the 
stem, to bid adieu to the masses assembled on 
the shore ; he waved his hat, and in a voice 
tremulous from emotion, pronounced farewell. 
It may be supposed that Major Beuman, who 
commanded the artillery on the interesting oc¬ 
casion, who was first captain of Lamb’s regi¬ 
ment, and a favorite officer of the war of the 
Revolution, would, when about to pay his 
last respects to his beloved commander, load 
his pieces with something more than mere 
blank cartridges. But ah ! the thunders of 
the cannon were completely hushed when the 
mighty shout of the people arose that respond¬ 
ed to the farewell of Washington. Pure 
from the heart it came ; right up to heaven it 
went, to call down blessings upon the Father 
of his country. 

The barge had scarcely gained the middle 
of the Hudson when the trumpets were heard 


at Paulus Hook, where the governor and the 
chivalry of New Jersey were in waiting, to 
welcome the chief to those ■well-remembered 
shores. Escorts of cavalry relieved each 
other throughout the whole route, up to the 
Pennsylvania line; every village and every 
hamlet turned out its population to greet with 
cordial welcome the man upon whom all eyes 
were fixed, and in whom all hearts rejoiced. 

What must have been the recollections that 
crowded on the mind of Washington during 
that triumphant progress? Newark, New 
Brunswick, Princeton, Trenton ! What a con¬ 
trast between the glorious burst of sunshine 
that now illuminated and made glad every¬ 
thing around these memorable spots, with the 
gloomy and desolate remembrance of 1776! 
Then his country’s champion, with the wreck 
of a shattered host, he was flying before a 
victorious and well-appointed foe, while all 
around him was shrouded in the darkness of 
despair; now in his glorious progress over 
the self-same route, his firm footstep presses 
upon the soil of an infant empire, reposing in 
the joys of peace, independence, and happi¬ 
ness. Among the many who swelled his tri¬ 
umph, the most endeared to the heart of the 
chief were the old associates of his toils, his 
fortunes, and his fame. Many of the revolu¬ 
tionary veterans were living in 1790, and by 
their presence gave a dignified tone and char¬ 
acter to all public assemblages: and when 
you saw a peculiarly fine-looking soldier in 
those old days, and would ask, “ To what 
corps of the American army did you belong ?” 
drawing himself up to his full height, with a 
martial air, and back of the hand thrown up 
to his forehead, the veteran would reply: 
“ Life-Guard, your honor.” 

And proud and happy were these veterans 
in again beholding their own good Lady 
Washington. Greatly was she beloved in the 
army. Her many intercessions with the 
chiefs, for the pardon of offenders; her kind¬ 
ness to the sick and wounded; all of which 
caused her usual arrival in camp to be hailed 
as an event that would serve to dissipate the 
gloom of the winter-quarters. 

Arrived at the line, the New Jersey escort 
was relieved by the cavalry of Pennsylvania, 
and when near to Philadelphia the president 
was met by Governor Mifflin and a brilliant 
cortege of officers, and escorted by a squad¬ 
ron of horse to the city. Conspicuous among 
the governor’s suite, as well for his martial 
bearing as for the manly beauty of his per¬ 
son, was General Walter Stewart, a son of 
Erin, and a gallant and distinguished officer 
of the Pennsylvania line. To Stewart as to 
Cadwallader, Washington was most warmly 
attached ; indeed, those officers were among 
the very choicest of the contributions of 








72 VIEW OF NIAGARA FALLS FROM CLIFTON HOUSE—ASTRONOMY. 


Pennsylvania to tlie array and cause of inde¬ 
pendence. Mifflin, small in stature, was ac¬ 
tive, alert, “ every inch a soldier.” He was 
a patriot of great influence in Pennsylvania in 
the “ times that tried men’s souls,” and nobly 
did he exert that influence in raising troops, 
with which to reinforce the wreck of the 
grand army at the close of the campaign of 
1776. 

Arrived within the city, the crowd became 
immense ; the president left his carriage and 
mounted the white charger; and, with the 
governor on his right, proceeded to the city- 
tavern in Third street, where quarters were 
prepared for him, the light-infantry, after 
some time, having opened a passage for the 
carriages. At the city-tavern the president 
was received by the authorities of Philadel¬ 
phia, who welcomed the chief-magistrate to 
their city as to his home for the remainder of 
his presidential term. A group of old and 
long-tried friends were also in waiting. Fore- 
most among these, and first to grasp the hand 
of Washington, was one who was always 
nearest to his heart, a patriot and a public 
benefactor, Robert Morris. 

After remaining a short time in Philadel¬ 
phia, the president speeded on his journey to 
that home where he ever found rest from his 
mighty labors, and enjoyed the sweets of ru¬ 
ral and domestic happiness amid his farms and 
at the fireside of Mount Vernon. 

Onward, still onward, whirls the tide of 
time. The few who yet survive that remem¬ 
ber the Father of his Country are fast fading 
away. A little while and their gray heads 
will all have dropped into the grave. 


VIEW OF NIAGARA FALLS, 

FROM CLIFTON HOUSE. 

The most comprehensive view of Niagara 
is, no doubt, that from the galleries of the 
Clifton House, on .the Canada side of the 
falls; but it is, at the same time, for a first 
view, one of the most unfavorable. This 
house stands nearly opposite the centre of the 
irregular crescent formed by the falls; but it 
is so far back from the line of the arc, that 
the height and grandeur of the two cataracts, 
to an eye unacquainted with the scene are 
deceptively diminished. After once making 
the tour of the points of view, however, the 
distance and elevation of the hotel are allowed 
for by the eye, and the situation seems most 
advantageous. In crossing the river, below 
the falls, however, the height, extent, and 
volume of the grand panorama can be more 
distinctly realized. 


LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY,—N°. 1, 

BY PROFESSOR O. M. MITCHELL. 

[We propose to give in some of the suc¬ 
ceeding parts of our work, the most interest¬ 
ing and valuable portions of the lectures on As¬ 
tronomy, delivered in New York, by Prof. 
Mitchell, and ably reported for the New 
York Tribune. These lectures embrace an 
exposition of the great problem of the uni¬ 
verse, the mechanism of the solar system, 
and the constitution of the starry heavens, 
with an account of the great modem discov¬ 
eries, and the influence of theories. Prof. 
Mitchell has been engaged several years 
in establishing an observatory at Cincinnati, 
for the cultivation and diffusion of astronomi¬ 
cal science, and has erected one which will vie 
in excellence with the best in the Old World.] 

When we look upon the heavens—when we 
watch the movements of those silent orbs— 
when we wing our flight upward, and take in 
the immense range by which we are sur¬ 
rounded, even extending beyond the narrow 
limits of human vision—can we contemplate 
the scene without being filled with wonder 
and astonishment ? This same scene opened 
upon the first eye that was permitted to see 
the light: and from that hour, down through 
long-succeeding ages, this wondrous scene 
above us has ever fastened the attention and 
directed the gaze of the best and most won¬ 
derful minds that have adorned this earth. 
The science to which I would direct your at¬ 
tention is one which has furnished the theme 
for the investigation of the most exalted in¬ 
tellects in every age; and from the earliest 
observation down to the present moment, we 
find the human mind occupied in its efforts to 
solve these mysteries—grasping the most dif¬ 
ficult problems, and sternly pushing its inves¬ 
tigations onward and onward, until darkness 
disappears and light—even a flood of light— 
breaks in from the heavens upon the victorious 
soul. And thus it must ever be. God has 
given these works for our examination, and 
has given to us intellect by which we are ena¬ 
bled to comprehend their structure; and it is 
by this that we are enabled to rise—to climb 
—to ascend—to soar, by our own efforts and 
by His aid, till we stand upon a lofty summit, 
whence we look out upon the wonders b y 
which we are surrounded, and behold the evi¬ 
dences of His wisdom, power, and glory, who 
has created all things in beauty and perfection. 

Allow me now to direct your attention to 
the scale upon which the universe is built, 
and to the grand problem involved in solving 
the mysteries by which it is surrounded. 

First, let me inquire if there be laws gov¬ 
erning the movements of all these bodies, and 












Niagara Falls, viewed from the Clifton House. 



















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































ASTRONOMY. 


74 


if it is possible to ascertain tire nature of these 
laws ? Are they to be comprehended by the 
human mind ? or are they beyond the reach 
of the intellect which has been given us ? I 
answer, they are not: they are within our 
reach, and we are permitted to understand 
them ; and in understanding them we are per¬ 
mitted to extend onward and onward in our 
career of examination and discovery. 

The first law to which I direct your atten¬ 
tion is the law of motion. If a body be lo¬ 
cated in space, and receive a single impulse, 
it will move on for ever in a right line, and 
always maintain its onward career, never 
turning to the right nor left, and never relax¬ 
ing its speed. Now, is this a necessary law 
of matter ? I answer, it is. There is no 
necessity why this law, in preference to any 
other, should have been adopted. It is the 
wisdom of God which has assigned this law 
to motion. But why should not this motion 
be retarded and relax, and decline, and gradu¬ 
ally die away ? Such laws govern other mo¬ 
tions, and why not in this case ?—Again, we 
have the law of gravity; and what is this ? 
It is a law which tells us that every particle 
of matter in the universe attracts every other 
particle with a force which varies in propor¬ 
tion to the mass, and decreasing in a certain 
ratio with the distance. This is a second 
law.—Another law is this : Every revolving 
body, in sweeping about from its centre, has a 
tendency to flv from that centre with a cer¬ 
tain force called centrifugal force. Now, 
combining these three together, we have all 
the laws which govern the movements and 
guide the motions of the heavenly bodies. 
These are simple and easily understood. 

Then, with these laws at our command, let 
us examine the structure of our own system— 
for this shall be our type and model—and, 
passing on, let us essay to reach, if possible, 
the limits of the universe. Now, then, to 
view our system, let us move to the sun and 
locate ourselves on that immense orb. What 
do we find ? A vast globe, 880,000 miles in 
diameter. Here we fix our point of observa¬ 
tion. At the distance of 95,000,000 miles, far 
as the eye can reach, there is a ball reflecting 
back the light thrown upon it from its great 
centre. That ball receives an impulse under 
the action of that force by which it would 
move for ever in a right line, but the attractive 
power of the sun seizes it, and lo ! a planet, 
bathed in the Tight of its controlling luminary, 
is sweeping in its orbit, onward and onward 
in its swift career, until it comes back to the 
point whence it started. Has its velocity 
been diminished ? has it lost any of its mo¬ 
tion ? No. With the same velocity with 
which it set out it reaches its starting-point, 
and onward moves again. 


Now, suppose we were, if it Avere possible, 
to fix golden rings in the path of this moving 
body, of such diameter that it might pass 
through Avith not a solitary hair’s-breadth to 
spare. Such is the beauty and perfection of 
its motion that from century to century, and 
from age to age, this solitary planet would 
swing in its orbit around the sun, passing uni¬ 
formly and invariably through these golden 
rings with no shadoAV of Aariation from its 
first motion. But stay: while this planet is 
re\ r olving in the distance, we find another 
small globe, Avith dim and diminished light, 
commencing its mo\ r ement, subordinate and 
controlled by the movement of its central 
body—the planet. There is a satellite—the 
moon—added to the first body, the two SAveep- 
ing onward, but alas! the accuracy of the 
original motion of the planet is destroyed for 
ever. It no longer SAveeps through these 
golden rings. As the moon passes in betAveen 
it and the sun, it adds its force of attraction 
to that of the sun, and the earth is draAAm in- 
Avard, no longer passing through the points it 
once so unerringly A T isited. As the moon 
swbngs round on the opposite side, it draAvs 
the earth farther from its orbit; and thus we 
find oscillations backward and fonvard—per¬ 
turbations and disturbances—Avhieh it Avould 
seem no human intellect can grasp or unraA r el. 

But this has been done. Go back 3,000 
years—stand upon that mighty watch-toAver, 
the temple of Belus in old Bab\ lon—and look 
out. The sun is sinking in eclipse, and great 
is the dismay of the terror-stricken inhabit¬ 
ants. We have the fact and circumstances 
recorded. But how shall Ave prove that the 
record is correct ? The astronomer unraA r els 
the devious movements of the sun, the earth, 
and the moon, through the whole period of 
3,000 years—Avith the power of intellect he 
goes backAvard through the cycles of thirty 
long centuries—and announces that at such an 
hour on such a day—as the Chaldean has 
written—that eclipse did take place. 

Such is the character of the knoAvledge we 
have attained Avith reference to the moA^ements 
of these bodies. But A\ r e must go still farther. 
I announced to you that the law of gravita¬ 
tion declares that every particle of matter in 
the universe attracts eA r ery other particle. 
Noav then, add to the system Ave ha\*e im¬ 
agined, tAvo interior primary planets, Mercury 
and Venus—the planet Mars on the outside— 
and the seven asteroids noAV revolving be- 
tAveen the planets Mars and Jupiter: add to 
these Jupiter Avith his four moons. Saturn 
Avith his mighty orb of 79,000 miles diameter 
—add his moons and rings also: go still far¬ 
ther till you reach Uranus—add his moons : 
step out still farther to the utmost boundaries 
noAv known of our solar system, and bring in 










ASTRONOMY. 


tliat wonderful, mysterious body known as 
the planet Neptune, whose history is as yet 
more wonderful and strange than any other 
belonging to our system : add all these together 
—let each one of these bodies act upon every 
other, and then, is it possible for the human 
mind to grasp the laws which hold all these 
bodies in their orbits? Can it rollback the 
tide of Time, and tell you that a thousand 
years ago, such and such were the configura¬ 
tions of all these planets and satellites ? and 
not only that, but draw aside the veil from 
the future and show a thousand years hence, 
that such and such shall be their configura¬ 
tions ? With all their disturbing influences, 
can such truth be eliminated, and the whole 
rendered clear, perfect, harmonious, and 
beautiful? Yes: even this has been accom¬ 
plished. 

But we have not exhausted the problem of 
our system even yet. I have only taken into 
account the planets and satellites belonging to 
our own system. There are other mysterious 
bodies, which seem not to obey the laws that 
govern these movements. While the planets 
are circular in their orbits and the satellites 
nearly the same, we find dim, mysterious 
bodies, wandering through the uttermost re¬ 
gions of space—we see them coming closer 
and closer, and as they approach our system, 
they fling out their mighty banners, wing 
their lightning flight around the sun and speed 
away to the remotest limits of vacuity. 
These eccentric bodies—these comets—belong 
to our solar system, and form a part and par¬ 
cel of the whole : each and every one of these 
must be taken into account in resolving the 
mighty problem of the universe. And they 
are not to be counted by tens, nor hundreds, 
nor thousands : their number is not less than 
millions. Neither do they revolve in the 
same plane on which the planets roll, nor in 
the same direction. While all the planets 
sweep around the great centre regularly and 
harmoniously, we find the comets pouring in 
from every possible point, forming every pos¬ 
sible angle, and passing out in every possible 
direction. And yet the perturbations occa¬ 
sioned by these wandering bodies in their long 
journeys of thousands of years have to be 
made out. 

At this very time, the whole astronomical 
world is intensely interested in watching the 
return of one of these wonderful bodies. 
Two hundred and ninety years ago, it visited 
our system for a short space. The two hun¬ 
dred and ninety years—its computed period— 
are now nearly expired, and at this time every 
telescope on our globe is directed with the ut¬ 
most intensity of anxiety to that particular 
region in space where it is believed the stran¬ 
ger will first make his appearance. Think, 


75 


that we should be able to trace the invisible, 
unknown movement of these almost spiritual 
bodies, and be able to announce their return 
with a degree of accuracy that astonishes 
every intellect! And yet this is the fact. 

But to what distances do these bodies pen¬ 
etrate into space ? When we remember that 
the periodic time of the most distant of our 
planets (Neptune, 2,700,000,000 miles from 
the sun) is but 1G7 years, and that the period 
of some of these comets is not short of three 
or four thousand years, how immense must be 
the distance to which they recede from our 
sun! 

Now, retaining in your minds the fact I 
have stated—that every particle of matter at¬ 
tracts every other particle—and that if these 
comets, in sweeping out to this immense dis¬ 
tance, fall under the influence of other suns, 
they are gone from us, never to revisit our 
system again: is it possible, then, that there 
are other systems which do not interfere with 
ours and with each other ? Is it possible that 
these forever-wandering bodies do not come 
under the influence of other suns ? Is space 
so boundless—is the universe so limited—that 
there is room for more than one of these 
mighty systems ? To this point I would ask 
your attention. You see thus a partial de¬ 
velopment of the scale upon which the solar 
system was created, and you can begin to ap¬ 
preciate the nature of the problem of the uni¬ 
verse which has been so far solved, that man 
might attain a knowledge of the system with 
which he is, in his physical nature, so inti¬ 
mately associated. 

But there are other objects than planets and 
comets filling the heavens. Look out upon 
the millions of stars in beautiful constellations. 
Behold these magnificent groups in every point 
of the heavens. Trace out that mysterious 
and curiously-wrought band, stretching from 
one end of the sky to the other—the Milky 
Way. Give aid to the delighted eye, and 
through the space-annihilating telescope see 
millions and millions of suns flashing upon the 
dazzled sight at once. Surely these bodies 
are clustered near together ? They are not 
separated from each other by the same amount 
of space as we appear to be separated from 
them ? 

Let us examine this for a moment: the 
astronomer, in order to find his distance from 
any heavenly body, ascertains precisely the 
point in the heavens where that body is lo¬ 
cated. For instance: should we desire to 
ascertain the distance of the moon from the 
earth, we should locate one astronomer at a 
given point on the earth with his telescope 
directed to the moon: another astronomer we 
station at a place far distant from the first, 
with his line of sight also on the moon at the 













ASTRONOMY. 


76 


same instant of time. The angle of the 
visual ray with a perpendicular to the earth’s 
centre is carefully noted by each observer; 
and when this angle is found (the base of 
their triangle being their distance apart) it 
is easy to tell at what distance from the 
earth the protracted sides would meet—and 
that point of junction will be the centre of 
the moon. 

Now let us try the same with regard to the 
fixed stars and see whether any results are 
ascertained. We locate two observers 8,000 
miles apart (one on each side of the earth); 
and from these two points they direct their 
visual rays to yonder distant orb : but alas! 
the lines are absolutely parallel. The astron¬ 
omer is foiled—he gains no point whose dis¬ 
tance he can estimate. What now is to be 
done ? He makes the earth itself a grand 
travelling observatory, and at the extremity 
of the diameter of the earth’s orbit, at the 
end of six long months, when the earth shall 
have swung itself halfway round the sun, at 
the immense distance of 200,000,000 miles he 
again sends up his visual ray. And now he 
has a base of 200,000,000 miles—surely the 
angle at the vertex of this immense triangle 
will reveal the distance ! But, alas! again 
it is almost insensible ; and if it be sensible at 
all, it can not be so great as to bring the near¬ 
est of the stars nearer than sixty billions 
(60,000,000,000,000) of miles! With this 
immense space intervening is there danger 
that the comets shall rush against our neigh¬ 
boring suns, even in their long journeys of 
thousands of years ? I think not.—And this 
is another illustration of the immense scale 
upon which the universe is built. Now, hav¬ 
ing reached outward to the nearest of these 
objects, let us stand and contemplate the 
scene by which we are surrounded. Yonder 
shines Orion, with his broad and beautiful 
belt, and yonder is the Northern Bear. These 
groups—so familiar to us—are always delight¬ 
ful to the eye. Go with me until we reach 
that beautiful star in the northern heavens— 
Lyra. From that point look out, and what 
do you behold ? Is there any change ? Surely 
there is a new heavens ! Yonder is old Ori¬ 
on’s belt, gleaming with the same beautiful 
stars and arranged in precisely the same order 
as when we left our native earth. All the 
change is no more than wnuld be made by a 
change of position with your neighbor upon 
your own planet. 

And having gained this unit of measure, 
we are enabled to go on to the next, till finally 
in one unbroken succession we find them ex¬ 
tending outward, and outward, and outward, 
till a long-extended series reaches in some di¬ 
rections even to five hundred successive ob¬ 
jects. Then sweep round with this immense 


line as a radius. All the vast limits in the 
entire circuit of its range are filled with suns 
and systems that bum, and roll, and shine, as 
do our own. 

Having gone thus far, it would seem that 
we are on the uttermost limits of space ; and 
that the human mind, after attaining to that 
point, must there rest its weary wings. Not 
so. We are barely at the outskirts of one 
little island of the universe—a small compass, 
condensed and united so that if we were even 
in the extreme limits which we can reach 
with our aided vision, we should grasp the 
whole—all its suns and systems, as it were, 
in our very hand itself. When we have 
reached these outer limits, and applied the 
powers of the telescope, exploring space be¬ 
yond, we find objects coming up from the 
deep distance and bursting upon the sight, 
which fill the mind with wonder and astonish¬ 
ment. 

I have gazed through the mighty telescope 
upon these sublime objects in the dead hour 
of the night, when earth’s thousands of 
beating, throbbing hearts were quieted in 
slumber—when the rapid furious pulse of bu¬ 
siness was stilled in the arms of sleep. There 
was a time when my own mind could not take 
in these objects: it seemed impossible: I 
could not stretch my imagination to their ut¬ 
most limits. But now put your eye to this 
instrument, and tell me what breaks in upon 
your vision ? Ah ! I see a most beautiful 
sight—millions of diamond points sprinkling 
the blue vault of the heavens. How strange 
is that other object! Shall I tell you what 
object it is ? Go with me through the regions 
of space—onward—onward. I see it expand¬ 
ing, increasing—I see diamond points in it 
lighting up with brilliancy and splendor. As 
we near the object we find it expanding till it 
fills the w r hole visible universe itself, for 
it is nothing less than a universe of stars. 
Where are we now ? Look backward, and 
what is behind ? Is our own sun visible in 
the mighty galaxy? Yes. I see nothing 
but a dim stain—a nebulous haze. Yet that 
is the mighty system we have left behind. 
This is but one, and it is the nearest of all of 
them. Go off in another direction and you 
will bring up not only tens and hundreds, but 
thousands of these bright and beautiful star- 
islands of the universe, strewed throughout 
the vast regions of space. 

It is the business of the astronomer to study 
not only his own system, but to contemplate 
the millions of stars, and to go still farther out 
to those mysterious nebulous objects with 
which the heavens are filled, and tell if, in 
the long lapse of ages, some mighty change 
may not be working in these curious and 
wonderful objects. 












THE DEAD SEA. 


77 



THE DEAD SEA. 

The result of tlie exploration of tliis an¬ 
cient locality, by the United States navy offi¬ 
cers who have just sailed for the Mediterra¬ 
nean, will be looked for with deep interest by 
the civilized world. The federal government 
have authorized this recormoissance for the 
purpose of solving geographical problems and 
to elucidate ancient story. 

The Dead sea is to be explored by Ameri¬ 
can sailors—that sea of marvels which, after 
engulfing the guilty “ cities of the plain”— 
has been ever since invested, to the imagina¬ 
tion, with awful and supernatural character. 
“ A pestilential vapor, it has been said, rises 
continually from its waters ; fish can not live 
in, nor birds fly over them; iron will not sink 
in them, nor have they ever been navigated 
by ship or bark.” 

Such slight examination as occasional trav¬ 
ellers of more recent days have given to this 
bitter sea, has dispelled many of these fables ; 
but still these deep dark waters are a mystery 
to the world. They have been found to con¬ 
tain—as accounting for their extraordinary 
specific gravity, which led to the tale that 
iron would not sink in them— 41 parts in a 
hundred of salt; a much greater proportion 
than that of the sea, and derived from entire 
rocks of this mineral continually dissolving on 
the southern shore. Bitumen also rises in 
abundance from the bottom and floats on the 
surface—and hence these waters acquire a 
consistency which enables them to bear up 
bodies that would sink in other waters. 


The Rev. Doctor Durbin, late president of 
Dickinson College, Carlisle, Pennsylvania, 
gives the following illustration of the density 
of these waters :— 

“I waded in carefully, to test the oft- 
repeated statements of the great specific grav¬ 
ity of the fluid, and repeated the experiment 
several times : the uniform result was, that 
when the waters rose above my armpits but 
not over my shoulders, my body was balanced, 
and I could not touch the bottom, but my feet 
tended strongly to rise and my head to de¬ 
scend. When I turned on my back and drew 
up my knees, so as to balance the body on the 
surface, I lay as still as a knot of wood, my 
head, knees, and half of my feet out of the 
water; and so long as I was perfectly still, I 
floated in this position. These experiments 
satisfied me of its great specific gravity.” 

Doctor Durbin adds that his hair was mat¬ 
ted with the bitumen, which, on being pressed 
by the fingers, covered them with a sticky 
substance. 

Josephus, in his fourth book of the wars of 
the Jews, relates that the waters of the Dead 
sea support on the surface whatever is thrown 
into the lake, and confirms the relation by the 
fact that Vespasian, to convince himself of 
the truth of this assertion, ordered several 
persons with their hands and legs tied, to be 
thrown into the lake, and that not one of them 
sunk. 

But it 'is less to verify or refute problems 
such as these that an exploration of the Dead 
sea by competent and scientific observers is 
desired, than to ascertain its actual relation to 
























































































































7S BOOKS, THEIR PUBLICATION AND CIRCULATION. 


the waters of the Mediterranean, from which 
it is distant not more than between 30 and 40 
miles; yet the level of the Dead sea is said 
to be some hundreds of feet below that of the 
Mediterranean. 

Into the Dead sea the river Jordan dis¬ 
charges and loses itself. Descending from 
the sea of Tiberius, which is in fact a shallow 
outspreading in the fashion of a lake, of the 
river—some 60 miles in a winding course, the 
Jordan disappears in this deep and bitter as¬ 
phaltic sea, which is about 24 miles in length 
from north to south, and not more, according 
to modern travellers, than six or seven in 
breadth. 

It is comparatively shallow at its southern 
extremity, but its general depth is reputed to 
be unfathomable. Its western shore, on the side 
of Arabia, or Moab, is one prodigious black 
perpendicular wall, in which there is not a 
summit or the smallest peak; its eastern or 
Indian shore is of limestone and sandy cliffs 
of varied and fantastic forms. 

All, however, but the mere external ap¬ 
pearances of this dismal sea and its dreary 
shores, is matter of conjecture and uncertainty; 
and hence the greater stimulus to investigation. 

The United States store ship Supply, being 
bound to the Mediterranean with stores, is to 
be employed under Lieut. Lynch, as her com¬ 
mander, with Lieut. Dale, who will be more 
specially charged with the scientific recon- 
noissances. 

To effect the exploration of the Dead sea, 
they will land at Acre, and thence direct their 
operations across the ancient plains of Jericho, 
and the point of research, carefully levelling 
the intermediate route, in order to determine, 
first of all the relative altitude between the 
two seas. Amply provided with instruments 
—having metal boats of light construction, 
and all the means and appliances for survey¬ 
ing and sounding—we may justly anticipate 
from this expedition accurate information on 
points heretofore wholly conjectural, yet in¬ 
vested with deep interest. 

It is one of the peculiarities of the water 
of the Dead sea, that, although so dense and 
bituminous, it is exceedingly translucent. 

It is somewhat singular that a government 
of the new world should be the first to explore 
and verify the facts, concerning a region so 
intimately connected with the common faith 
of Christendom and the witness of one of the 
most awful penalties of transgression under 
the Mosaic dispensation; and we can not but 
hope from this expedition what will gratify 
natural and intelligent curiosity, while confirm¬ 
ing the original record of the Bible. The 
evil propensities of the wandering hordes who 
traverse the deserts in that vicinity furnish the 
greatest obstacles to complete success. 


BOOKS: 

THEIR PUBLICATION AND CIRCULATION. 

It is a very common thing to hear of the 
evils of pernicious reading, of how it enervates 
the mind, or how it depraves the principles. 
The complaints are doubtless just. These 
books could not be read, and these evils would 
be spared the world, if one did not write, and 
another did not print, and another did not sell, 
and another did not circulate them. Are 
those, then, without whose agency the mis¬ 
chief could not ensue, to be held innocent in 
affording this agency ? Yet, loudly as we 
complain of the evil, and carefully as we 
warn our children to avoid it, how seldom do 
we hear public reprobation of the writers! 
As to printers, and booksellers, and library- 
keepers, we scarcely hear their offences men¬ 
tioned at all. We speak not of those aban¬ 
doned publications which all respectable men 
condemn, but of those which, pernicious as 
they are confessed to be, furnish reading- 
rooms and libraries, and are habitually sold in 
almost every bookseller’s store. He that 
lends a man money to use for an improper 
purpose, or a weapon for his revenge, makes 
himself a partner of his crime. He, too, 
who writes or sells a book which will, in all 
probability, injure the reader, is accessory to 
the mischief which may be done: with this 
aggravation, that while the money would 
probably do mischief but to one or two per¬ 
sons, the book may injure a hundred or a 
thousand. Of the writers of injurious books 
we need say no more. If the inferior agents 
are censurable, the primary agent must be 
more censurable. A printer or a bookseller 
should, however, reflect, that to be not so bad 
as another is a very different thing from being 
innocent. When we see that the owner of a 
press will print any work that is offered to 
him, with no other concern about its tendency 
than whether it will subject him to penalties 
from the law, we surely must perceive that 
he exercises but a very imperfect virtue. Is 
it obligatory upon us not to promote ill princi¬ 
ples in other men ? He does not fulfil the 
obligation. Is it obligatory upon us to pro¬ 
mote rectitude by unimpeachable example ? 
He does not exhibit that example. If it were 
right for my neighbor to furnish me with the 
means of moral injury, it would not be wrong 
for me to accept and to employ them. 

Let us stand in a bookseller’s store, and 
observe his customers successively coming in. 
One orders a lexicon, and one a work of scur¬ 
rilous infidelity ; one Captain Cook’s voyages, 
and one a new licentious romance. If "the 
bookseller takes and executes all these orders 
with the same willingness, we can not but 










BOOKS, THEIR PUBLICATION AND CIRCULATION. 


perceive that there is an inconsistency, an in¬ 
completeness, in his moral principles of action. 
Perhaps this person is so conscious of the mis¬ 
chievous effects of such books, that he would 
not allow them in the hands of his children, 
nor suffer them to be seen on his parlor-table. 
But if he thus knows the evils which they in¬ 
flict, can it be right for him to be the agent in 
diffusing them ? Such a person does not ex¬ 
hibit that consistency, that completeness of 
virtuous conduct, without which the Christian 
character can not be fully exhibited. Step 
into the store of this bookseller’s neighbor, 
a druggist, and there, if a person asks for 
some arsenic, the apothecary begins to be 
anxious. He considers whether it is probable 
the buyer wants it for a proper purpose. If 
he does sell it, he cautions the buyer to keep 
it where others can not have access to it; and 
before he delivers the packet legibly inscribes 
upon it—Poison. One of these men sells 
poison to the body, and the other poison to the 
mind. If the anxiety and caution of the 
druggist are right, the indifference of the book¬ 
seller must be wrong. Add to which, that 
the druggist would not sell arsenic at all if it 
were not sometimes useful; but to wdiat 
readers can a vicious book be useful ? 

Suppose for a moment that no printer w'ould 
commit such a book to his press, and that no 
bookseller would sell it, the consequence 
would be that nine tenths of these manuscripts 
would be thrown into the fire, or rather that 
they would never have been written. The 
inference is obvious ; and surely it is not need¬ 
ful again to enforce the consideration that al- 
though your refusal might not prevent vicious 
books from being published, you are not 
therefore exempted from the obligation to re¬ 
fuse. A man must do his duty, whether the 
effects of his fidelity be such as he would de¬ 
sire or not. Such purity of conduct might 
no doubt circumscribe a man’s business, and 
so does purity of conduct in some other pro¬ 
fessions: but if this be a sufficient excuse for 
assisting to demoralize the world, if profit be 
a justification of a departure from rectitude, 
it will be easy to defend the business of a 
pickpocket. 

We know that the principles of conduct 
which these remarks recommend lead to grave 
practical consequences: we know that they 
lead to the conclusion that the business of a 
printer or bookseller, as it is ordinarily con¬ 
ducted, is not consistent with Christian up¬ 
rightness. A man may carry on a business in 
select works; and this, by some conscientious 
persons, is really done. In the present state 
of the press, the difficulty of obtaining a con¬ 
siderable business as a bookseller without cir¬ 
culating injurious works may frequently be 
great, and it is in consequence of this diffi¬ 


79 


culty that we see so few booksellers among 
the quakers. The few who do conduct the 
business generally reside in large towns, where 
the demand for all books is so great that a per¬ 
son can procure a competent income though 
he excludes the bad. 

He who is more studious to justify his con¬ 
duct than to act aright may say that if a per¬ 
son may sell no book that can injure another, 
he can scarcely sell any book. The answer 
is, that although there must be some difficulty 
in discrimination, though a bookseller can not 
always inform himself what the precise ten¬ 
dency of a book is—yet there can be no diffi¬ 
culty in judging, respecting numberless books, 
that their tendency is bad. If we can not 
define the precise distinction between the 
good and the evil, we can nevertheless per¬ 
ceive the evil when it has attained to a certain 
extent. He who can not distinguish day from 
twilight can distinguish it from night. 

The case of the proprietors of common 
circulating libraries is yet more palpable; 
because the majority of the books which they 
contain inflict injury upon their readers. How 
it happens that persons of respectable charac¬ 
ter, and who join with others in lamenting the 
frivolity, and worse than frivolity, of the age, 
nevertheless daily and hourly contribute to the 
mischief, without any apparent consciousness 
of inconsistency, it is difficult to explain. A 
person establishes, perhaps, one of these li¬ 
braries for the first time in a country town. 
He supplies the younger and less busy part 
of its inhabitants with a source of moral in¬ 
jury from which hitherto they had been ex¬ 
empt. The girl who till now possessed sober 
views of life, he teaches to dream of the ex¬ 
travagances cf love ; he familiarizes her ideas 
with intrigue and licentiousness; destroys her 
disposition for rational pursuits; and prepares 
her, it may be, for a victim of debauchery. 
These evils, or such as these, he inflicts, not 
upon one or two, but upon as many as he can ; 
and yet this person lays his head upon his pil¬ 
low, as if, in all this, he was not offending 
against virtue or against man ! 

The Bible. —There is no other volume in 
the world which grows in interest by repeated 
reading. We may study Bacon, Butler, or 
Boyle, but so soon as the argument is appre¬ 
ciated and the truth appropriated, the mind 
labors through another reading. But every 
passage in the New Testament is fruitful of 
varied suggestions, and the more spiritual the 
mind of the reader, the more fruitful of good 
is the passage read. Because one passage 
suggests others, and thus, like the links of a 
chain, attains some new or some impressive 
views of God’s character and of human 
duty. 












80 BO-PEEP.—CURIOSITIES OF SCIENCE. 


BO-PEEP. 

Our engraving represents one those 
scenes in domestic life which cost so little, 
but go so far to make up the sum of a wo¬ 
man’s happiness. The picturesque arrange¬ 
ment of light and shade is the most striking 
artistic feature of the group. As the “ free 
knitter in the sun” swiftly interlaces the glis¬ 
tening pins, like lines of light, her thoughts 
as speedily weave mingled dreams of the fu¬ 
ture, as the childish glee of the children comes 
to her ear. On one side the low sun shoots 
his beams over sweet gardens and fresh fields, 
and at. last rests upon the green grape clusters, 
peeping between the leaves around the cot¬ 
tage-door, and upon her clean olive cheek, 
transparent as the lucid skin of the berry. 
On the one hand it is the glow of outward na¬ 
ture that warms her heart; on the other, the 
joy of maternal love, as she watches her chil¬ 
dren at play. 


CURIOSITIES OF SCIENCE. 

The following interesting facts are from an 
address delivered by Professor Mapes, before 
the Mechanics’ Institute of New York:— 

The feathers of birds, and each particular 
part of them, are arranged at such an angle as 
to be most efficient in assisting flight. The 
human eye has a mirror on which objects are 
reflected, and a nerve by which these reflec¬ 
tions are conveyed to the brain, and thus we 
are enabled to take an interest in the objects 
which pass before the eye. Now, when the 
eye is too convex, we use one kind of glasses 
to correct the fault, and if it be not convex 
enough, or if we wish to look at objects at 
different distances, we use glasses of entirely 
another description. 

But as birds can not get spectacles, Provi¬ 
dence has given them a method of supplying 
the deficiency. They have the power of 
contracting the eye, of making it more convex, 
so as to see the specks which float in the at¬ 
mosphere, and catch them for food; and also 
of flattening the eye, to see a great distance, 
and observe whenever any vulture or other 
enemy is threatening to destroy them. In 
addition to this they have a film, or coating, 
which can be suddenly thrown down over the 
eye to protect it; because at the velocity 
with which they fly, and with the delicate 
texture of their eye, the least speck of dust 
would act upon it as a penknife thrust into the 
human eye. This film is to protect the eye, 
and the same thing exists to some extent in 
the eye of the horse. The horse has a very 


large eye, very liable to take dust. This 
coating in the horse’s eye is called the haw, 
or third eyelid, and if you will watch closely, 
you may see it descend and return with elec¬ 
tric velocity. It clears away the dust, and 
protects the eye from injury. If the eye 
should catch cold, the haw hardens and pro¬ 
jects, and ignorant persons cut it off, and thus 
destroy this safeguard. 

You all know, if you take a pound of iron, 
and make of it a hollow rod a foot long, what 
weight it will support; a weight many times 
greater than before. Nature seems to have 
taken advantage of this also, long before 
mathematicians had discovered it, and all the 
bones of animals are hollow. The bones of 
birds are large, because they must be strong 
to move their large wings with sufficient ve¬ 
locity ; but they must also be light, in order 
to float easily upon the air. Birds also illus¬ 
trate another fact in natural philosophy. If 
you take a bag, make it air-tight, and put it 
under water, it will support a large weight, 
say a hundred pounds. But twist it, or di¬ 
minish the air in it, and it will support no such 
weight. Now, a bird has such an air-bag. 
When he wishes to descend, he compresses it 
at will, and falls rapidly ; when he would rise, 
he increases it, and floats with ease. He also 
has the power of forcing air into the hollow 
parts of the body, and thus to assist his flight. 
The same thing may be observed in fishes. 
They also have an air-bag to enable them to 
rise or sink in the water, till they find their 
temperature. 

If they wish to rise, they increase it; if 
they wish to sink they compress it, and down 
they go. Sometimes the fish, in sinking, 
makes too strong an effort to compress it; then 
down he goes to the bottom, and there re¬ 
mains for the rest of his life. Flounders, and 
some other fish, have no air-bag; and so they 
are never found floating on the surface, but 
must always be caught at the bottom. 

In this way are the principles of science 
applied to almost everything. You wish to 
know how to pack the greatest amount of bulk 
in the smallest space. The form of cylinders 
leaves large spaces between them. Mathe¬ 
maticians labored hard for a long time to find 
what figure could be used so as to lose no 
speck ; and at last found that it was the six- 
sided figure, and also that a three-plane end¬ 
ing in a point, formed the strongest roof or 
door. The honey-bee discovered the same 
things a good while ago. The honey-comb is 
made up of six-sided figures, and the roof is 
built with three-plane surfaces coming to a 
point. 

If a flexible vessel be emptied of air, its 
sides will be almost crushed together by the 
pressure of the surrounding atmosphere. And 














WINDOW-GARDENING. 


83 


suited to fix attention, and to illustrate the 
subjects of liis discourse. His hearers were 
overawed and yet captivated by the sanctity 
of his appearance as though he were a gentle 
and yet authoritative visiter from another 
world, whose messages, though calmly and 
mellifluously uttered, were not to be doubted. 

The eloquence of Whitefield was like the 
drops of rain coming down copiously and with 
audible noise. The eloquence of Wesley 
was like the falling of the dew upon the ten¬ 
der herb, known more by its effects than by 
its fall. And then, if Wesley was inferior in 
direct power of speech to Whitefield, he was 
far superior as to the power of his pen. With 
the latter instrument, Whitefield could do 
nothing. His whole strength was in his ora¬ 
tory. But while he was unsurpassed in the 
pulpit, Wesley far transcended him in eccle¬ 
siastical government. One was a child as to 
his capacity to organize into a well-arranged 
religious body, the converts he had made. 
The other was a giant, or rather an able states¬ 
man, in reducing his converts to fellowship 
and durable organization. Hence, perhaps, 
there is scarcely a church in Christendom that 
can trace its origin to Whitefield; but there 
are a thousand churches in Europe and Amer¬ 
ica that delight to trace their existence to 
Wesley. We need not add that both these 
men were great blessings to the world, and 
the more so, that they were laboring and 
preaching in the same districts of country, in 
alternate succession, or at the same time. As 
neither the sun nor the moon can take each 
other’s place, so it was with these men of God. 
Each had his appropriate messages to deliver, 
and his own manner of delivery, and his own 
special work to perform. Infinite Wisdom 
knew this, and wrought, now by the son of 
thunder—and now by the son of consolation. 
Their eloquent advocacy of the great truths 
of the gospel, became the power of God unto 
salvation, to multitudes who, through their 
word, believed. Their oratory, under God, 
was full of benignity and good to their fellow- 
beings, both in Great Britain and her then 
American colonies. 


WINDOW GARDENING. 

In crowded cities, where ground is so val¬ 
uable that large houses have only a small 
yard behind them, window gardening becomes 
an important branch of floriculture, as it af¬ 
fords the inhabitants almost their only chance 
of enjoying the luxury of flowers. That the 
cultivation of flowers, even in a window, is, 
indeed, an enjoyment to the inhabitants of 


cities, is evident by the pleasure with which 
we see many of those who live by their labors 
with the needle or the loom, spending the 
greater part of their few leisure hours in tend¬ 
ing a few geraniums or other flowering plants 
arranged on a window sill; and there is some¬ 
thing affecting in the sight, when we recollect 
that many of these persons probably came 
originally from the country, and that these 
few leaves and flowers are all that remain to 
remind them of their native fields. The 
plants of persons of this class are, however, 
generally much more healthy than those of 
richer cultivators, probably because they are 
more cared for, and more diligently watched; 
for no living objects more amply repay the at¬ 
tention bestowed upon them than flowering 
plants. 

All plants grown in pots, and kept in a room, 
require more attention than they would do in 
any other situation, as they are in a most un¬ 
natural state, and they need the greatest care 
that can be bestowed upon them to counteract 
the bad effects of their peculiar position. To 
understand thoroughly how disadvantageous 
that position is to their growth, we must 
recollect that plants derive their nourishment 
partly through their roots, and partly through 
their leaves, by means of pores so extremely 
fine, that they can only be seen by the aid of 
a very powerful microscope. When a plant 
is kept constantly in an inhabited room, the 
pores of the leaves become choked up with 
dust; and as the air of every room inhabited 
by human beings must necessarily be very 
dry, the delicate points of the roots, which 
are of a soft spongy nature, to enable them to 
imbibe water, become withered or dried up, 
and lose that power of alternate dilation and 
contraction, which is absolutely necessary to 
enable them first to absorb moisture from the 
soil, and afterward to force it up through the 
stem and leaves. In addition to these evils, 
which it is extremely difficult to guard against, 
may be added another of almost equal im¬ 
portance, arising from the use of saucers to 
the flower-pots. These it is difficult to dis¬ 
pense with in a living room, as, without them, 
there would be danger of injuring the carpet, 
and other articles of furniture, every time the 
plant is watered ; for water is of scarcely any 
use, unless it be given in sufficient quantity to 
saturate the whole mass of earth in the pot, 
and this can not be done without some esca¬ 
ping by the hole at the bottom. If, however, 
water be suffered to stand in the saucer, unless 
there be abundance of drainage in the bottom 
of the pot, the water will sodden the earth, 
and if it does, the spongioles of the roots will 
inevitably become rotten. Wherever, there¬ 
fore, plants are kept in pots, it should be a 
paramount object with the cultivator to set 








WINDOW GARDENING. 


84 


them out in the open air as often as possible, 
and then, while the pots are standing without 
their saucers, to give them abundance of wa¬ 
ter, either syringing their leaves, or washing 
them thoroughly by holding a watering-pot, 
with a fine rose, above them, and letting the 
water descend on their leaves like a shower. 
In summer, plants may be watered in this 
manner twice a day, and in spring and autumn 
once a day, without receiving the slightest in¬ 
jury from over-watering. In winter, how¬ 
ever, the case is different; and as soon as the 
air becomes frosty, the plants should not be 
exposed to it, and they should be watered as 
little as possible, so as to keep them alive, un¬ 
less they should be plants which flower in the 
winter, in which case they should be watered 
daily, as all plants when in flower require 
more water than at any other season. As 
these winter-flowering plants must, of course, 
be placed in saucers, for the sake of cleanli¬ 
ness, it will be necessary to take care, when 
the plants are watered, that the saucers are 
emptied out, as soon as the water has run 
through into them, so that no stagnant water 
may be allowed to remain to chill the roots. 
Another point which should be attended to, 
when plants are kept in living rooms, is to re¬ 
move all the dead leaves as soon as they ap¬ 
pear, as the decomposition of vegetable mat¬ 
ter is extremely injurious to the health of hu¬ 
man beings. Even the plants themselves ap¬ 
pear to grow better when all the decaying 
vegetable matter they produce is regularly 
removed from them; and not only do they 
grow more vigorously, but the perfume and 
beauty of their flowers is said to be increased. 

In attending to the cultivation of plants 
which are to be kept in rooms, it must never 
be forgotten that they require air as well as 
water to nourish them. It has been long 
known that plants will not thrive unless the 
air has free access to their leaves ; but it has 
only lately been ascertained that the leaves 
not only act in elaborating the sap, but that 
they also take in nourishment from the atmo¬ 
sphere. Air should likewise be permitted to 
have access to the roots moderately, so as not 
to dry them; as the roots can derive nourish¬ 
ment from it, as well as the leaves, provided 
they are kept in a sufficiently moist state by 
the earth with which they are surrounded, to 
be capable of taking nourishment from any¬ 
thing. The important fact that plants derive 
a great portion of their nourishment from the 
atmospheric air, was little known before the 
time of Liebig ; and even now, it is so contrary 
to all our ancient prejudices, that even where 
it is acknowledged, it is rarely remembered 
when the rules derived from it are to be acted 
upon. 

Light is as essential as air or water to the 


growth of plants; and as plants in pots rarely 
obtain a sufficient quantity when they are 
kept in living rooms, their stems are frequently 
drawn up till they become weak and slender, 
and neither their leaves nor their flowers are 
so dark as they would be if the plants were 
grown in the open air. When plants are 
grown in greenhouses, they are generally 
placed upon a stage raised on steps one above 
another, and in this manner the leaves receive 
the full advantage of light, while the sides of 
the pots are not dried by exposure to the sun ; 
but the reverse of this generally takes place 
when plants are kept on a window-sill, as the 
leaves of the plants are frequently shaded by 
some projecting part of the house or window ; 
while the pots are exposed to the full influ¬ 
ence of the sun, and thus the points of the 
roots of the plants contained in them are very 
apt to become dry and withered. 

It may possibly be thought by some persons, 
that it is scarcely necessary to enlarge on the 
importance of light, air, and w'ater, to the 
health of plants, as every one must be aware 
of that fact; this, however, is far from being 
the case. The generality of amateurs who 
cultivate plants in pots, think that the princi¬ 
pal care requisite for their plants is to keep 
them warm ; and if they do not grow freely, 
to give them manure; but nothing can be 
more erroneous than this mode of treatment. 
Too much heat is as injurious as too much 
cold; and if plants are brought suddenly out 
of a cool greenhouse into a very warm room, 
they will become sickly; their flower-buds 
will fall off without expanding, and probably 
they will lose the greater part of their leaves. 

Over-manuring is still more injurious. The 
roots of plants in pots are so cramped by the 
confined space in which they are kept, that 
they have seldom strength to digest strong 
manure ; and there is no doubt that great num¬ 
bers of greenhouse plants were killed by over¬ 
doses of guano, when it was first introduced. 
Giving strong manure to a sickly plant is as 
injurious as giving strong food to an invalid; 
and in both cases, does harm rather than good. 
If to over-manuring be added abundant wa¬ 
tering, and want of drainage, the earth in the 
pot becomes what is called sour, and is not 
only totally incapable of affording nourish¬ 
ment, but it actually rots the roots of the 
plants growing in it. 

Excellence is never granted to man, but 
as the reward of labor. It argues, indeed, no 
small strength of mind to persevere in the habits 
of industry without the pleasure of perceiving 
those advantages, which, like the hand of a 
clock, while they make hourly approaches to 
their point, yet proceed so slowly as to escape 
observation. 











THE BOUNTIES OF NATURE. 


THE BOUNTIES OF NATURE, 

Innumerable are man’s relations with the 
outer world. Think not merely of the links 
which bind to it your animal life. True, our 
life depends every moment on the air in the 
midst of which we live. But we bear other 
relations to the visible world. The skies are 
yours, for you behold them with wonder and 
delight. The variegated earth is yours, and 
the rich uplands of the swelling hills: the 
music of the rustling trees and of the rippling 
brook; the changeful anthem of the ocean is 
yours; for things properly belong to those 
who can enjoy them, and the man of a culti¬ 
vated mind has inlets of pleasure for every 
department and almost every object in the 
world. How rapidly increase our relations 
with the universe in proportion as we gain 
knowledge and become refined in taste. The 
infant sees in life nothing but smiling eyes and 
happy faces; and pleasurable is the sight. 
The boy views every object in relation to his 
amusement. The ignorant ascend not beyond 
the associations connected with animal grati¬ 
fications. Hills to the shepherd are made for 
grazing sheep. Rivers in the eyes of the 
commercial man are means of inland naviga¬ 
tion ; and the ocean rises to no higher charac¬ 
ter than the great highway of nations. How 
different the views of him whose mind is well- 
disciplined and well-filled; whose heart is 
pure and lofty ; how dissimilar his views, and 
how much more true, varied, rich, and eleva¬ 
ted. There can not be a greater mistake than 
to suppose that the obvious are the sole quali¬ 
ties of bodies—that the lower are the only real 
relations that exist between them and us. 
If it is found that these relations multiply 
with everv step man takes in advance, then 
may we infer that there is much more }^et to 
be known—many links to discover—other 
spheres of beauty, of use, of gratification. 

Indeed, we are as yet only in the alphabet 
of our knowledge of nature ; we stand only 
on the threshold of her temple. Not on the 
most tiny and inconsiderable object can we 
look, but wonder mingles with our pleasure : 
the little that we know of it tells us there are 
greater secrets to be explored ; a richer mine 
in nature to be discovered and worked. That 
leaf pleases by its contour, and gratifies by its 
texture and its hue : place it under the micro¬ 
scope, how eclipsed is its superficial beauty. 
That rivulet has caught your eye, you listen 
pleasurably to its soothing melody: then mark 
how the daisy and the buttercup enamel its 
banks ; how the mild violet peeps smilingly 
up from under its tangled shrubs; but carry 
forward your thoughts; see how a thousand 
streamlets trickling down from their gravelly 
beds unite to form a rivulet; and a hundred 


85 


rivulets running over richly-coA r ered plains 
meet together in a stream; and how several 
streams, after watering and refreshing many a 
homestead and many a village, flow into a 
river : how after having left their benefactions 
behind for men and cattle, rivers unite, and in 
one grand volume go like a monarch, forward 
to the ocean, there to blend with other streams 
from opposite quarters of the globe, and form 
the great reservoir of waters which binds to¬ 
gether remote nations, supplies the clouds 
with moisture, makes our atmosphere fit for 
sustaining animal life, and sends dews and 
showers to enrich the earth and feed every 
living thing. 

It is chiefly when the moral and the re¬ 
ligious feelings intervene, that man’s relations 
to the world become most impressive and 
most gratifying. Abundance and privation 
seen as God’s ordinations for man’s good—in¬ 
struct while they move and fill the mind with 
sentiments of the holiest kind. How great, 
how ennobling, is the contemplation of the 
universe, when all is seen in God; and God 
is seen in all. 

Then is there excited in the mind a feeling 
which, more than any other, combines what is 
pleasurable with what is elevating; namely, 
gratitude. This is the emotion which aU 
abundant harvest spontaneously awakens. 
In every plain, on every hillside, along the 
winding banks of every stream, we behold 
gifts of the divine bounty, trace our relations 
with inanimate nature, and hear claims on our 
grateful adoration. The birds and the cattle, 
in partaking of these provisions, and uttering 
the glad tones which abundance prompts, join 
in inviting man to praise the common benefac¬ 
tor. The joy excited by the bright promise of 
an ample harvest is enhanced when we re¬ 
vert to the privations and sufferings that in 
times of scarcity thousands have to endure. 
The time will come when there will no longer 
be the possibility of a widely-extended famine. 
Dearth of food does by no means depend ex¬ 
clusively on the abundance of one harvest, or 
the ample returns reaped by the agriculture 
of one country. Moral causes here, as in 
every human interest, have very much to do 
with our condition. In the earliest ^periods of 
history, famine frequently devastated large 
portions of the earth. Yet the population was 
thin and scattered, land was not wanting, har¬ 
vests in general were copious. Dearth of 
food arose from men’s improvidence. They 
lived for the passing hour. Plenteous and 
unlimited in her gifts is our mother earth. 
But if men will not ask her for more than 
they at the moment need; or, if they squan¬ 
der what they have ; or, if they will not take 
and enjoy in one part what she produces in 
another—what but famine and distress can be 








VIADUCT OVER THE PATUXENT. 


r 


86 


expected? We are very far from "having 
reached the limit of the earth’s productive¬ 
ness. How large a portion of its surface is 
yet uncultivated ! how imperfect much of our 
actual cultivation! In science, the progress 
of society has been most rapid and most ex¬ 
tensive. Have its resources no new power to 
unfold, in regard to the production of food for 
man ? Amid its multitudinous combinations, 
is there not one which will directly minister 
to the support of human life ? We can send 
our words with the rapidity of lightning over 
the earth’s surface. We dart through the 
air more swiftly than the birds. Shall we 
despair of yet discovering means for multi¬ 
plying the supplies of human food ? Such a 
secret will, we doubt not, be discovered. 

But were it actually in our possession, and 
were we in consequence able to increase the 
common stock a hundred-fold, still should we 
possess no absolute guaranty against want 
and dearth. The lands that are most prolific 
are not the most free from famine. It is not 
abundance so much as thrift that secures man 
from indigence. Those who have most at 
their command are generally most in need. 
The rich man’s estate comes to the hammer, 
while the cottage of the industrious laborer 
passes down through successive generations. 
Where nature or providence is most bountiful 
man is most wasteful. The barbarian con¬ 
sumes as fast as he gains. What is termed 
civilized society bears some resemblance to 
savage life. Hitherto, each country has first 
kept its own produce to itself, then refused to 
receive the produce of other lands, and lastly, 
consumed every year what the year has 
brought forth. It is partly to the folly of gov¬ 
ernments, partly to the improvidence of indi¬ 
viduals, that we owe dearth, famine, and pes¬ 
tilence. When we think of the amazing com¬ 
mand over external nature that man has gained, 
and think also of the resources of moral wis¬ 
dom, we feel no less amazed than grieved that 
such a calamity as the late dearth in Ireland is 
possible. Three millions of men, women, and 
children, in the nineteenth century reduced for 
their daily subsistence to the dole of charity ! 
and in a most prolific land, with abundance on 
foreign shores waiting to be purchased and 
consumed ! An entire people living from hand 
to mouth ! the British islands with no provis¬ 
ion against the day of need ! their bams empty, 
their storehouses exhausted! and that too, 
when thousands and tens of thousands of 
hands were ready and willing to labor in pro¬ 
ducing or sending them food ! 

The true wealth of a people is what they 
save from the present. Men must save if 
they would be safe. Accumulation renders 
want impossible. Accumulation promotes ac¬ 
cumulation. Every individual ought to lay 


by for the future a portion of his present gains. 
These exertions of our moral nature must be¬ 
come, and they only can become, the guardi¬ 
ans of our physical life. He is not poor, he 
never will be poor, who consumes less than 
he obtains. Where there is a spare loaf, fam¬ 
ine never comes. Individual thrift is national 
prosperity. Abundance vanishes before waste¬ 
fulness. An impoverished must be a suffering 
people. Whether, in general, the relation 
which the outer world bears to us individually 
and collectively shall be one of happiness or 
of suffering, depends mainly on our character. 
Mental culture, wise forethought, generous 
affections, a healthy frame—these are the 
great sources of happiness; and were these 
universal, pain would be rare, and famine 
unknown. 

i 

- I 


VIADUCT OVER THE PATUXENT. 

The arches of the viaduct, in the engraving 
which we present to our readers, span the 
Patuxent, a stream which at some points is of 
very considerable depth and breadth, but 
which, in addition to its own loveliness becomes 
an object of interest for its being the scene of 
actions which transpired during our country’s 
last war with Great Britain. The view will 
be recognised for its faithfulness in every par¬ 
ticular ; and, that it may be more forcibly im¬ 
pressed upon the memory, we annex some of 
the historical passages connected with it, 
drawn from the most respected authorities. 

In May, 1814, while the British were at¬ 
tempting to blockade the coast, in the com¬ 
mand of a flotilla, comprising a cutter, two 
gun-boats, a galley, and nine large barges, 
Commodore Barney sailed from Baltimore for 
the protection of the bay. At the mouth of 
the Patuxent, on the first of June, he discov¬ 
ered and chased two schooners, one of which 
carried eighteen guns. The schooners were 
soon joined by a seventy-four-gun ship, which 
sent a number of barges to their assistance, 
and the commodore, to avoid being cut off 
from the Potomac, sailed up the Patuxent. 
The schooners and barges having followed him, 
he engaged and drove them back, and anchored 
within three miles of the seventy-four. After 
a few days, the British were reinforced by a 
sloop-of-war and a razee, and joining the bar¬ 
ges, they moved into St. Leonard’s creek, 
where Commodore Barney had placed the flo¬ 
tilla across in line of battle. An engagement ' 
was the consequence. The enemy retreated, j 
the flotilla followed, and in the afternoon the 
former made a second attack with twenty 









































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































NOAH WORCESTER, THE AMERICAN APOSTLE OF PEACE. 


88 


barges and two schooners. The action was 
severe, and the eighteen gun schooner was 
run aground and abandoned. A corps of artil¬ 
lery arriving from Washington on the twenty- 
sixth, the commodore attacked the whole 
squadron, and after an action of two hours, 
drove the enemy’s ships down the river. 

The British government, hostilities in Eu¬ 
rope having ceased, sent out reinforcements to 
their fleet in America. Sir Alexander Coch¬ 
rane arrived with thirty sail, and several 
thousand men, under Major-General Ross. 
This power entered the Chesapeake, and a 
plan of attack was formed against Washing¬ 
ton, Alexandria, and Baltimore, the secretary 
of state having been honorably informed by 
the admiral, that his orders were to lay waste 
all the accessible towns on the coast. In two 
divisions, the fleet approached the capital by 
the Potomac and Patuxent. 

Commodore Barney, obedient to orders, 
blew up the flotilla in the Patuxent, and, with 
his men, joined General Winder. General 
Ross landed six thousand men at the head of 
frigate navigation. He was met by General 
Winder, and his force of five thousand men, 
at Bladensburgh. The action commenced at 
noon. In the main road by which the British 
advanced, was Commodore Barney’s battery. 
After several vain attempts were made to 
pass him, the main column was thrown into 
disorder. His right was then flanked. In 
all other points, the British gained, and Com¬ 
modore Barney, with a slight force, stood 
alone. 

The commodore was wounded in the thigh, 
and had but a single round of cartridge left; 
General Ross had nearly the control of the 
field. Thus situated, the commodore reluc¬ 
tantly retreated, and soon fell, exhausted by 
the loss of blood. Taken prisoner, he was 
borne to the enemy’s hospital, kindly treated, 
and on his recovery, released on his parole. 

General Ross marched to the capital, and 
burned the public buildings, an act which was 
immediately condemned by the British gov¬ 
ernment. 

The division of the enemy’s fleet which 
went up the Potomac, consisted of eight sail, 
and was commanded by Captain Gordon, It 
was directed to attack Alexandria. The town 
surrendered, and stipulated that the houses 
should be neither entered nor destroyed. 

Captain Gordon, afterward, with a fleet 
of prizes taken from Alexandria, sailed to join 
the rest of the squadron in the Chesapeake, 
receiving some damage from the batteries near 
the mouth of the river as he descended, and 
united in the less formidable actions against 
Baltimore. 

The following lines beautifully describe the 
past and present appearance of the Patuxent, 


and give additional testimony in favor of the 
triumphs of peace and industry :— 

What a change has old Time, in his course here created, 
Patuxent! sweet river, since when a mere boy, 

Far away from my home, with sweet Pleasure co-mated, 
On thy banks we discovei-ed the fountains of Joy. 

I remember the day when the cannon’s loud rattle, 

Shook the bounds of thy bed like the thunder’s dread 
roar, 

And the smoke that arose from the scene of the battle, 
Spread above thee in clouds, and enshrouded thy shore. 

At a distance I stood and beheld with deep wonder, 
Through the far-lengthened line, as each lightning-flash 
broke, 

While the scene was confused by the echoing thunder, 
The dead and the dying that fell in the smoke. 

Oh, how peaceful and quiet is now all around thee, 

Thy banks are disturbed by no din that destroys, 

For twinned Commerce and Wisdom have happily found 
thee, 

And their zeal for mankind now thy service employs. 

Thou art spanned by triumphant and useful high arches, 
Which unite thy rich banks, as a clasp firm and 6trong, 
And Enterprise there with a magic o’ermarches, 

While her votaries follow, and fear not to throng. 

What a change has old Time, in his course here created, 
Patuxent! sweet river, since when a mere boy, 

Far away from my home, with sweet Pleasure co-mated, 
On thy banks we discovered the fountains of Joy. 


NOAH WORCESTER, 

THE AMERICAN APOSTLE OF PEACE. 

Noaii Worcester, the subject of the fol¬ 
lowing sketch, was born at Hollis, New 
Hampshire, on the 25tli clay of November, 
1758. Hollis was then, like many New 
England towns which are now flourishing, an 
obscure place, and the roads which passed 
through it were marked by the axe of the 
woodman. A few years serve to clear away 
the trunks and roots of trees in these thriving 
villages, and substitute in their place neat 
square houses, with at least one church with 
its spire pointing upward. Noah was lineally 
descended from the Rev. William Worcester, 
who came from Salisbury, in England, and 
became minister of a church in Salisbury, in 
Massachusetts Bay, instituted in 1638, proba¬ 
bly soon after his arrival from the mother- 
country. Noah, with the beautiful simplicity 
and truth that marked his character, speaks 
of his religious impressions as of the earliest 
date that he could remember anything, ex¬ 
cept, he adds, “a bum which I received in 
my bosom when I was two years old.” His 
opportunities of education were few and im¬ 
perfect, and his services as a laborer, as he 
grew strong and robust, became important; a 
few weeks in the winter season were all that 












NOAH WORCESTER, THE AMERICAN APOSTLE OF PEACE. 89 


could be allowed him for school education, 
which was of the simplest kind, and deficient 
in the practical studies of grammar and geog¬ 
raphy. When he was sixteen, his school ed¬ 
ucation wholly ceased. 

It is not surprising that, possessed of an ar¬ 
dent and active mind, he should have em¬ 
braced the first change that offered ; .and on 
the commencement of the American Revolu¬ 
tion, the ensuing spring, he joined the army as 
a fifer, and continued eleven months in the 
service. He was at the battle of Bunker’s 
Hill—memorable both for British and Ameri¬ 
cans, who may to this day view the ground, 
enriched by the blood of their cherished sons. 

His recollections of this period were vivid ; 
once he narrowly escaped being made prisoner. 
He was afterward in the battle of Bennington, 
and expressed the acuteness of his feelings in 
going over the battle-ground the day after the 
contest. When the term of his enlistment 
expired, he was solicited to remain, with offers 
of increased emolument; but he was heart¬ 
sick of the business, and persisted in quitting 
the camp. 

This was, in truth, the school in which 
Providence had destined him to be educated ; 
it was here he was to learn the means of beino- 

O 

most useful to his fellow-creatures; to learn 
the nature of war, its vampire horrors, fatten¬ 
ing on the blood of fellow-rnen, and rioting on 
the bed of carnage. He expressed devout 
gratitude to Providence, who had led him un¬ 
harmed through moral dangers, but he was 
shocked to find how greatly the generous and 
tender sympathies of his nature had become 
weakened by the sight of human carnage. 
There was still, however, a living spring of 
sympathy in his heart; he had found a being 
congenial to himself, with a mind gentle and 
courageous as his own—a young girl, who at 
the age of sixteen was willing to pledge her 
faith to him, then eighteen, and hand in hand 
meet poverty and war. 

Another source of education was now opened 
to him: he was requested to become the 
teacher of the village school. He felt his 
deficiencies for such an office, but was resolute 
and determined to remove them. He devoted 
the intervals of the school—it must be re¬ 
membered that this occupied only the winter 
months—in acquiring such learning as was 
most useful and necessary; and finding it dif¬ 
ficult to procure paper during the war, he 
selected pieces of white birch bark, and imi¬ 
tated the best copies of handwriting he could 
find. He was fortunate enough at the age of 
eighteen to procure a dictionary, the first he 
ever possessed. That he was continued in the 
office of a teacher nine successive winters, is 
a proof how faithfully he filled it. Pie was 
married with no other prospects in life but 


farming in the summer, and keeping school in 
the winter; yet peace and contentment made 
their home in his dwelling. At this time he 
was twenty-one years of age, and had never 
written any compositions on abstract subjects. 
He mentions writing letters for himself and 
others who had friends in the army, and also 
when teaching, composing copies for his schol¬ 
ars, and questions in arithmetic, instead of 
taking them from books. His habits of reflec¬ 
tion and inquiry were formed, and led him to 
free discussions, and even arguments, on vari¬ 
ous subjects. 

About this period a convention of delegates 
had formed a constitution for New Hampshire, 
his native state, which they caused to be 
printed and sent to the different towns, with a 
request that “such objections as should occur i 
might be stated in writing, with reasons for 
their support, and forwarded to the convention 
at their next meeting.” 

It was now that the treasures of his mind, 
which had been gradually accumulating, burst 
forth into spontaneous fruit. He composed an 
article on the subject, perfectly satisfactory to 
the committee and the town, and began to feel 
that by practice he might write to advantage. 
He formed the habit of examining religious 
subjects, by writing short dissertations on dif¬ 
ferent questions. He was prompted to these 
exercises by the quickness and activity of his 
mind, and for his own satisfaction. The 
strength of these impulses may be better com¬ 
prehended by a knowledge of his situation. 
He had an increasing family, and no means 
of subsistence but the labor of his own hands. 
This was incessant. When not working on 
the farm, he applied himself to making shoes, 
which became in fact his recreation. The 
man who was to effect a revolution in public 
opinion in after-life, sat at work upon his 
bench, apparently wholly engaged with his 
awl and his last; but at the end of the bench 
lay his lapboard, with pen, ink, and paper, 
upon it; and when his thoughts were ripe for 
expression, the shoe gave place to the lap- 
board, and placing it on his knees, he poured 
forth the eloquent thoughts that demanded 
utterance. 

We have no intention of entering into the 
process of Mr. Worcester’s theological opin¬ 
ions, deeply interesting as they are, and guided 
and developed by the faithful study of Scrip¬ 
ture. This has been done by the ablest of 
pens ; and though the hand that once guided 
it is still and consigned to the dust, the mind 
that impelled it still lives, and will continue 
to influence thousands of human beings.* 

The power of self-education is much better 
understood in the present day than it was at 
that period of Noali Worcester’s life. Those 

* The Rev. Henry Ware, jun., D.D. 















NOAH WORCESTER, THE AMERICAN APOSTLE OF PEACE. 


90 


who had seen the stripling grow up to man¬ 
hood among them, without any external ad¬ 
vantages, yet now standing forth with a degree 
of moral power and dignity, were astonished; 
they felt that he was called to do the work of 
his father, and many of his clerical friends 
urged him to become a minister. After deep 
reflection, he resolved to present himself for 
examination, and was readily approved. 

“I have never,” he says, “doubted the 
friendship or sincerity of those ministers who 
advised and encouraged me to become a 
preacher; yet I have often doubted whether I 
could have given similar advice under similar 
circumstances. My want of education was 
great; I had a wife and three children who 
depended for support on the fruit of my labors; 
I was embarrassed by debt, by having pur¬ 
chased a farm at an unfavorable time during 
the war; I had found no leisure for regular 
study; and when or where I should obtain 
regular employment as a preacher seemed 
wholly uncertain. When in later years I 
have reflected on these several facts, it has 
seemed to me wonderful that wise men should 
have advised me to make the attempt to be¬ 
come a minister, and also wonderful that I was 
induced to comply with their advice. But, 
doubtless, God had some wise design in so 
ordering the event.” 

His preaching was immediately acceptable, 
and in a few months he was settled at Thorn¬ 
ton ; “ and here,” says his biographer, “ he 
fulfilled a useful and harmonious ministry of 
twenty-three years’ duration.” 

It must not be supposed that he was en¬ 
dowed with any rich benefice ; the town was 
small and humble ; he preached in a dwelling- 
house or schoolhouse ; and his salary was two 
hundred dollars a year. On this small stipend, 
aided by the labor of his hands, partly on the 
farm, and partly in making shoes, he more 
than supported his growing family—he found 
the art of being beneficent. Many of his 
parishioners could ill afford to pay their pro¬ 
portion of the small sum ; and when the time 
for collecting it drew near, to the poorer ones 
he gave a receipt in full, relinrpiishing all 
claims upon them. When a hard season came, 
and there was no provision for a winter school, 
he threw open the door of his house, invited 
the children to his study, and gave them reg¬ 
ular and daily instruction. With all these 
wearing occupations, the activity of his mind 
was constant; he entered with interest into 
the subjects which engaged public attention, 
studied with pen in hand, writing down his 
thoughts, and publishing in the public journals. 
His publications early attracted attention; 
and the obscure minister of an obscure place 
began to be heard of in the circles of the 
learned and affluent. In the midst of this 


scene of prosperity—for such in truth it might 
be termed, their few and simple wants having 
made their means a competency, domestic love 
and harmony shedding its happy influence 
within their humble dwelling, and the gentle 
mistress of the house, like our first mother, 
amid fruits and flowers making a paradise of 
home—amid all this, there came a sad reverse. 

Mr. Worcester had engaged to preach for 
a brother minister, and with the primitive 
simplicity of the times, took his wife on a pil¬ 
lion behind him to go to the appointed place. 
The horse became unruly, and Mrs. Worces¬ 
ter was thrown from her seat. At the time 
she did not appear much injured, but her sit¬ 
uation made the accident alarming. Just one 
month after, the New England thanksgiving 
arrived—an anniversary instituted by the 
founders of the colony, and scupulously ob¬ 
served to this day by their descendants. As 
it is an observance peculiar to New England, 
it may not be amiss to say a word on the sub¬ 
ject. It was originally designed to be ob¬ 
served rather as a day of prayer than feast¬ 
ing ; but, as is natural, friends collected around 
the board after the morning public service, 
and the dinner soon became an important fea¬ 
ture in thanksgiving-day. At this period of 
Mr. Worcester’s ministry it had become one 
of recreation as well as public devotion ; and 
many joyful hearts were saddened as they 
heard on their way to church that the wife of 
their minister was ill, and not expected to live 
an hour. “ It was a blustering November 
day,” said his daughter, “ and I never hear 
the wind blowing and whistling without re¬ 
membering it.” She was only six years old, 
but her recollections are vivid on the subject. 
“ The minister,” she added, “who performed 
the funeral services held my two elder brothers 
and myself up to look on our mother, and said, 

4 She is not dead, but sleepeth.’ I wnndered 
what he meant.” This little unconscious child 
was destined in later years to be the nurse and 
sole companion of her father. Left with the 
charge of eight children, it became imperative 
to provide for their well-being. An excellent 
successor to his wife w'as found, wdio became 
a mother to them. It was a happy union, and 
her life was prolonged till within five years 
of his own death. 

We have thus far endeavored to follow, in 
a summary manner, the life of Noah Worces¬ 
ter, but our limits do not allow us to continue 
this sketch, slight as it is; we hasten to the 
great object of this memoir. 

In 1813, he removed to Brighton, in the 
vicinity of Boston, at the solicitation of four 
clergymen of the highest respectability, to 
edit a periodical called The Christian Disciple. 
The character of this work was one of gen¬ 
tleness, candor, and charity. “ The Disciple,” 









NOAH WORCESTER, THE AMERICAN APOSTLE OF PEACE. 91 


says Dr. Ware, “as it came fortli with its 
monthly burden to the church, might remind 
one of the aged disciple, John, who is said 
from sabbath to sabbath to have risen before 
the congregation to repeat this affectionate ex¬ 
hortation, k Little children, love one another.’ ” 

His mind had long been revolving the great 
subject of war. “At first,” he says, “my 
views were perplexed, dark, and confused 
but the war of 1812, between Great Britain 
and the United States, operated with him an 
entire conviction; and in 1814 he wrote “A 
Solemn Review of the Custom of War.” 
This, says his biographer, was the most suc¬ 
cessful and efficient pamphlet of any period. 
It has been translated into many languages, 
and circulated extensively through the world, 
and has been one of the chief instruments by 
which the opinions of society have been af¬ 
fected in the present century. It found a re¬ 
sponse in every heart; the world was wearied 
with battles ; and enough were found in every 
country to repeat and enforce its doctrines. 
The Massachusetts Peace Society was formed, 
and the publication of “ The Friend of Peace” 
began in 1819, and was continued in quarterly 
numbers for ten years. Noah Worcester de¬ 
voted his talents to this work. The revolu¬ 
tion it created in society sufficiently proves 
its power and richness; it was full of variety 
and argument, and enlivened with a quaint 
shrewdness of remark, and a gentle humor, 
which “just opened upon the reader, like the 
quiet heat of a summer-day’s twilight, and 
then disappeared.” 

It is on this ground, as the apostle of peace, 
that we consider him one of the most remark¬ 
able men of the age, and one worthy to be 
known to our readers. He carried the world 
perceptibly forward—he opened a new era in 
its history—he made the abolition of war 
practicable by reasoning and demonstration. 
To circulate pacific opinions in his own coun¬ 
try, he considered but a small part of his 
work. He wrote to the emperor Alexander 
of Russia, and received an answer dated St. 
Petersburg, July 4, 1807, assuring him of his 
“cordial approbation.” We can only quote 
the concluding sentence : “ Considering the 
object of your society, the promotion of peace 
among mankind, as one so eminently congenial 
to the spirit of the gospel of Jesus Christ, I 
have judged it proper to express these my 
sentiments respecting your labors, in answer 
to your communications to me on this subject.” 

In a letter from Prince Alexander Galitziny, 
we find the concluding sentence : “ Most ear¬ 
nestly praying for every blessing to accompany 
your labor in promoting peace on earth, and 
good will among men, I shall esteem it a pe¬ 
culiar honor to be among the members of such 
a humane society.” 


Mr. Worcester received letters from dis¬ 
tinguished men, and from foreign societies. 
Among the collection of letters addressed to 
him, it may not be uninteresting to mention 
one from Jeane Pierre Boyer, president of the 
republic of Hayti. It is dated, “Port-au- 
Prince, le 9 June, 1818, An’ 15 de l’indepen- 
dance,” and breathes throughout a spirit of 
peace. 

All these tokens of respect and approbation 
were encouraging to the Friend of Peace; 
and it is justly observed that “ by commencing 
a systematic enterprise against war, he set in 
motion an agency which unites itself with the 
other agencies now carrying forward the prog¬ 
ress of man, and which are so knit together, 
and so reciprocally strengthen each other, that 
they make sure the final conquest of the 
world.” That the work is still incomplete 
we see too many proofs; but have we not 
reason to believe that a wonderful change of 
opinion has taken place. The great principles 
of peace are well understood. The world can 
only be changed through its opinions. Noah 
Worcester set in motion that direct action 
which goes at once to the bottom of the sub¬ 
ject. The active combination of peace so¬ 
cieties throughout the Christian world, by 
agents and books, bear witness to the value 
of his labors; it was owing to his pamphlet 
called “A Solemn Review of the Custom of 
War,” which appeared without a name or 
any recommendation, that the “ Peace Society 
of Massachusetts” was formed. “ He began 
his efforts,” said the late Dr. Channing, “ in 
the darkest day, when the whole civilized 
world was shaken by conflict, and threatened 
by military despotism. He lived to see more 
than twenty years of general peace, and to 
see through these years a multiplication of 
national ties, an extension of commercial com¬ 
munications, an establishment of new connex¬ 
ions between Christians and learned men 
through the world, and a growing reciprocity 
of friendly and beneficent influence among 
different states—all giving aid to the principles 
of peace, and encouraging hopes which a cen¬ 
tury ago would have been deemed insane.” 
Noah Worcester believed that no mightier 
man than William Penn ever trod the soil of 
America, when entering the wilderness un¬ 
armed, and stretching out to the savage a hand 
which refused all earthly weapons, in token 
of brotherhood and peace. He believed in 
the power of Christian love to subdue and 
control the angry passions, and his whole de¬ 
meanor expressed this feeling. There was an 
unusual gentleness in his manner, and at the 
same time a dignity which at once commanded 
respect. He was tall and athletic in his form ; 
as lie advanced in life his silver locks fell to 
his shoulders; though he gave the beholder 









92 the philosophy of a tear. 


an idea of meekness, it was justly said, there 
was a majesty in his meekness. We well 
remember this venerable man near the close 
of his life—his flowing locks, his benignant 
smile—his hand usually when he spoke placed 
upon his heart—for he was suffering from 
some disease in that region. We often met 
him in his quiet walks in a neighboring wood, 
belonging to his true and constant friend the 
late Gorham Parsons. His mind was im¬ 
pressed by the beautiful objects of nature, 
and cultivated by poetry and music ; his resi¬ 
dence was as patriarchal as his life, and we 
rejoice to say that this residence has passed 
into the hands of the daughter before alluded 
to. His second wife, who seems to have 
been all he could wish, died five years before 
him, and he was left alone with his only un¬ 
married daughter. She watched over him 
day and night, inheriting his own peculiar 
sweetness and gentleness, and soothing and 
comforting him under the infirmities of age. 
By her care and economy she made his means 
sufficient for all his wants, and gave an air of 
neatness and taste to the little tenement which 
he rented from Mr. Parsons at a low rate. 
He spoke of his old age as the happiest part 
of his life. “ When I have visited him,” 
says Dr. Channing, “ in his last years, and 
looked on his serene countenance, and heard 
his cheerful voice, and seen the youthful ear¬ 
nestness with which he was reading a variety 
of books, and studying the great interests of 
humanitv, I have felt how little of this out- 
ward world is needed to our happiness; I 
have felt the greatness of the human spirit, 
which could create to itself such joy from its 
own resources.” He closed his mortal life 
October 31, 1837, aged 79 years. A monu¬ 
ment has been erected to his memory at Mount 
Auburn, by numerous friends. On one side 
is this inscription: “Blessed are the peace¬ 
makers, for they shall be called the children 
of God.” 


THE PHILOSOPHY OP A TEAR. 

Beautiful Tear ! whether lingering upon 
the brink of the eyelid, or darting down the 
furrows of the care-worn cheek—thou art 
beautiful in thy simplicity—great because of 
thy modesty—strong from thy very weakness. 
Offspring of sorrow! who will not own thy 
claim to sympathy ? who can resist thy elo¬ 
quence ? who can deny mercy when thou 
pleadest ? Beautiful Tear! 

Let us trace a tear to its source. The eye 
is the most attractive organ of animal bodies. 
It is placed in a bony socket, by which it is 


I 


protected, and wherein it finds room to per¬ 
form the motions requisite to its uses. The 
rays of light which transmit the images of ex¬ 
ternal objects enter the pupil through the 
crystalline lens, and fall upon the retina, 
upon which, within the space represented by 
a dime, is formed, in all beauty and perfec¬ 
tion, an exact image of many miles of land¬ 
scape, every object displaying its proper color 
and true proportions—trees and lakes, hills 
and valleys, insects and flowers, all in true 
keeping, are there shown at once, and the 
impression produced thereby upon the fila¬ 
ments of the optic nerve causes a sensation 
which communicates to the mind the apparent 
qualities of the varied objects we behold. 

That this wonderful faculty of vision may 
be uninterrupted, it is necessary that the trans¬ 
parent membrane which forms the external 
covering of the eye shall be kept moist and 
free from the contact of opaque substances. 
To supply the fluid which shall moisten and 
cleanse the eye, there is placed at the outer 
and upper part of the ball a small gland, which 
secretes the lachrymal fluid, and pours it out 
at the corner of the eye, whence, by the mo¬ 
tion of the lids, it is equally spread over the 
surface, and thus moisture and clearness are 
at once secured. 

When we incline to sleep, the eyes become 
comparatively bloodless and dull. The eye¬ 
lids drop to shut out everything which might 
tend to arouse the slumbering senses. The 
secretion by the lachrymal glands is probably 
all but suspended, and the organs of sight par¬ 
ticipate in the general rest. When, after a 
long night’s sleep, the eyelids first open, there 
is, therefore, a dulness of vision, arising prob¬ 
ably from the dryness of the cornea : then 
occur the rapid motions of the eyelids, famil¬ 
iarly termed “winking”—sometimes instinct¬ 
ively aided by rubbing with the hands—and 
after a few moments the “ windows” of the 
body have been properly cleansed and set in 
order, the eye adjusted to the quantity of light 
it must receive, and w r e are “ awake” for the 
day, and may go forth to renew our acquaint¬ 
ance with the beauties of nature. 

It is from the glands which supply this 
moisture that tears flow. Among physiologists 
it is well known that emotions —impressions 
upon the nervous system—exercise a powerful 
and immediate influence upon the secretions. 
As, for instance, the mere thought of some 
savory dish, or delicious fruit, or something 
acid—as the juice of the lemon—will excite 
an instant flow of the salivary fluid into the 
mouth. An emotion of the mind influences 
the lachrymal glands, which copiously secrete 
and pour forth the crystal drops, and these, 
as they appear upon the surface of the eye, 
we denominate tears. 











MUTUAL INSTRUCTION CLASSES. 


A similar action, called forth by another 
kind of excitement, occurs when dust or other 
irritating substance comes in contact with the 
eye : the glands instantly secrete abundantly, 
and pouring the crystal fluid out upon the 
surface, the eye is protected from injury, and 
the offending substance is washed away. 
The feelings which excite excessive laughter 
or joy also stimulate this secretion—the eyes 
are said to “ water.” It is only when the 
crystal drop comes forth under the impulse 
of sorrow—thus speaking the anguish of the 
mind—that it can properly be called a tear. 
Hence its sacred character, and the sympathy 
which it seldom fails to create. 

Every tear represents some indwelling sor¬ 
row preying upon the mind and eating out its 
peace. The tear comes forth to declare the 
inward struggle, and to plead a truce against 
further strife. How meet that the eye should 
be the seat of tears—where they can not oc¬ 
cur unobserved, but blending with the speak¬ 
ing beauty of the eye itself must command 
attention and sympathy. 

Whenever we behold a tear, let our kindli¬ 
est sympathies awake—let it have a sacred 
claim upon all that we can do to succor and 
comfort under affliction. What rivers of tears 
have flown, excited by the cruel and perverse 
ways of man! War has spread its carnage 
and desolation, and the eyes of widows and 
orphans have been suffused with tears ! In¬ 
temperance has blighted the homes of millions, 
and weeping and wailing have been incessant! 
A thousand other evils which we may conquer 
have given birth to tears enough to constitute 
a flood—a great tide of grief. Suppose we 
prize this little philosophy, and each one de¬ 
termine never to excite a tear in another —how 
pleasantly will fare mankind ! Watching the 
eye as the telegraph of the mind within, let 
us observe it with anxious regard; and whether 
we are moved to complaint by the existence 
of supposed or real wrongs, let the indication 
of the coming tear be held as a sacred truce 
to unkindly feeling, and all our efforts be de¬ 
voted to the substitution of smiles for tears! 


MUTUAL INSTRUCTION CLASSES. 

To make a mutual instruction class suc¬ 
cessful, it should be so conducted as to sustain 
the character it assumes. It should be em¬ 
phatically an instruction class, and every 
member should feel himself at the close of 
each meeting in the possession of some fact 
he had not known before. This constitutes 
the reward of membership, and supplies a tie 
strong enough to bind a group of inquirers in 


93 


indissoluble union. Everything practicable 
should be done to render the meetings of the 
class not merely useful but entertaining. The 
dull bending over books is far inferior to other 
and more social modes of acquiring knowledge. 
A plan which works well is, to propose to the 
class that some work of recognised excellence 
be read and conversed upon. Take, for in¬ 
stance, Combe’s work on the Physiology of 
Health. Let A. read aloud to the class on 
one night, B. on another, and so on in rotation. 
One half-hour (or more) to be spent in reading, 
a subsequent half-hour (or more) in conversa¬ 
tion upon the subject read. Let the reader 
stand up, uncovered, and read aloud, as to a 
larger audience. At the close, C. requests 
that the passage relating to exercise before and 
rest after meals, be reread, because of its im¬ 
portance. D. wishes the reader again to state 
the components of atmospheric air. In con¬ 
nexion with this latter subject, E. suggests a 
simple method for the ventilation of work¬ 
shops; and F. enlarges upon its importance, 
as a means for the preservation of health. 

These outlines will be sufficient to show 
how evenings may be spent in a way at once 
instructive and entertaining. A. is exercised 
in reading—B. C., &c., are improved in their 
conversational abilities—and all are benefited 
by the acquirement of knowledge, while the 
part each takes in the proceedings sharpens 
the faculties and shakes off drowsiness. 

Occasionally, subjects may be set apart for 
debate. But it must always be remembered 
that discussion involves the possession of 
knowledge, rather than the acquirement of 
it. But matters will constantly arise out of 
these readings upon which the members may 
differ. Thus Combe recommends the use of 
alcoholic stimulants under certain circumstan¬ 
ces. P., however, sees reason to dissent from 
Combe’s opinion ; and is strengthened by the 
experience of six years, during which, m ill¬ 
ness and in health, he has lived in entire dis¬ 
use of them. He believes, moreover, that the 
use of intoxicants, whether medicinal or other¬ 
wise, is fraught with dangerous consequences, 
and should be altogether avoided—he, there¬ 
fore, proposes to the class to discuss the ques¬ 
tion : Are alcoholic drinks essential under any 
and what circumstances ? This subject dis¬ 
cussed, various opinions are elicited, and H. 
proposes to try the subject in another sense— 
Do the social and physical evils, arising from 
the use of alcoholic drinks, outweigh the sup¬ 
posed benefits from them, and demand their 
entire disuse ? 

In this way, question will multiply upon 
question—and the perusal of one work will 
supply various matters for discussion, at the 
same time that the members of the class are 
fitting themselves to analyze the matter in 









GOLD AND SILVER MINES OF MEXICO. 


94 


dispute. Subjects chosen for debate should 
always have some practical bearing upon the 
welfare of the world. 

A good plan is occasionally to have a public 
meeting, and the friends of the members in¬ 
vited to attend. At these meetings each 
member should say something upon a subject 
in which he is most skilled and interested. A. 
is appointed chairman ; and being a mechanic, 
opens by a description of the steam-engine, 
and offers a few remarks upon the revolution 
produced by its mighty powers. B., a printer, 
describes the process of printing, and adverts 
to the great influence of the press. C. has 
S looked into the almanac and seen the an¬ 
nouncement of a partial lunar eclipse : he in¬ 
vites his fellow-members to watch the interest¬ 
ing phenomena, and briefly describes the laws 
by which it is produced. D. has brought a 
curious specimen of natural history, which he 
has borrowed to show to the class, and ex¬ 
plains its peculiarities. E. describes the elec¬ 
tric telegraph, and displays a few diagrams of 
his own preparation. F. communicates a few 
thoughts upon natural theology; and the 
chairman having taken notes of the proceed¬ 
ings, concludes by a summary of the subjects, 
remarks upon the pleasures of the night, and 
encourages the members to persevere in their 
good course. In these proceedings, every 
speaker should stand uncovered. The chair¬ 
man should occupy an elevated seat, and ev¬ 
ery regard should be bestowed upon order and 
mutual respect. The interest and profit of 
these meetings are greatly enhanced by due 
regard to such regulations; while those who 
participate in them are fitted for such impor¬ 
tant stations in life as they may be called 
upon to fill hereafter. 

That which has been suggested here to 
classes, may also be carried out in families 
with great profit. Why should not every 
family constitute a class, where parents and 
children, uncles, aunts, and nephews, and a 
circle of cousins and acquaintances, now and 
then meet alternately at each other’s homes, 
to carry on these sweet pursuits, and thus add 
to the charms, the poetry of life, and multiply 
its pleasures ? 


WEIGHTS AND MEASURES. 

Wheat flour, 1 pound is 1 quart. 

Indian meal, 1 pound 2 ounces is 1 quart. 

Butter, when soft, 1 pound 1 ounce is 1 quart. 
Loaf-sugar, broken, 1 pound is 1 quart. 

White sugar, powdered, 1 pound 1 ounce is 1 quart. 
Best brown sugar, 1 pound 2 ounces is 1 quart. 
Eggs, average size, 10 eggs are 1 pound. 

Sixteen large tablespoonfuls are half a pint. 

Eight tablespoonfuls are 1 gill. 

Four large tablespoonfuls are half a gill. 

A common-sized tumbler holds half a pint. 

A common-sized wine-glass holds half a gill. 


GOLD & SILVER MINES OF MEXICO. 

The gold and silver mines of Mexico have 
not been overrated. From the discovery of 
this continent in 1492, to the year 1803, the 
gold and silver obtained from the American 
mines amounted to the enormous sum of 
$5,706,700,000. Of this sum an average of 
$35,000,000 was produced after the year 
1750. Although a large amount of the pre¬ 
cious metals are annually produced in South 
America, Mexico is constantly increasing the 
number of her mines, so that her facilities for 
furnishing gold and silver are second to none 
on the continent. The quantity of silver pro¬ 
duced by the American mines as compared 
with the gold, is as forty-six to one. 

The silver ore obtained in Mexico is not as 
valuable as that obtained in Europe; yielding 
but one ounce of pure silver to four hundred 
ounces of ore ; while the average yield of 
the European ore is very near three times as 
great. The mines of Europe have been 
worked for centuries, and the heavy expense 
required to obtain the ore from the bowels of 
the earth, greatly increases the cost of silver. 
The abundance of ore, and the facilities for 
procuring it in Mexico, more than compensate 
for its comparative barrenness. But few large 
mines have been opened and continually 
worked in Mexico. It has been the common 
practice, when the water or other causes ren¬ 
der the mining operations difficult, to quit the 
spot and commence at some new place. 

Semi-barbarous as Mexico has been, there 
is no country on the globe where the labor of 
procuring the precious metals is so well re¬ 
warded as in that country. At Potosi, in 
South America, the mines are worked entirely 
by Indians, six thousand of whom are sent 
every eighteen months from the neighboring 
provinces, the pay of each being about thirty 
cents a day. In Europe, most of the mines 
are worked by criminals. In Mexico, the la¬ 
borer who works in the mines earns five dol¬ 
lars per week, and those employed to carry 
the ore from the mine to the furnace, receive 
nearly two dollars per day’s work of six hours, 
while the common laborer of the country does 
not earn more than a dollar and a half per 
week. 

Specimens of virgin gold have sometimes 
been discovered in Mexico, but this metal is 
commonly found combined with quartz, mica, 
slate, and the various members of the green¬ 
stone family. 

The annual quantity of quicksilver which 
is used in Mexico for separating the silver from 
the ore, exceeds 200,000 pounds. This is 
obtained from Spain, Austria, Italy, and Ger¬ 
many. A failure of the regular supply of 
quicksilver would materially retard the pro- 












REMEDIES AGAINST MOTHS. 


duction of silver from the Mexican mines. 
The Rothschilds are aware of this fact, and 
have sometimes operated extensively in quick¬ 
silver, by purchasing all that was in the mar¬ 
ket, and raising its value before the amount 
required for the regular consumption could be 
procured from the mines. Without the aid 
of quicksilver, the cost of separating the sil¬ 
ver from the ore would nearly equal the value 
of the silver procured. 

The quicksilver mines of Idria, in Austria, 
near the gulf of Venice, are the most exten¬ 
sive of any in the world. These mines were 
discovered in 1497, by a cooper, who, having 
placed a new tub under a dropping spring at 
night, discovered in the morning a shining fluid 
at the bottom of the tub, which was so heavy 
that he could hardly move it. He carried the 
article to an apothecary in a neighboring town, 
who gave him a small sum for it, and requested 
him to bring more. 

Notwithstanding the large quantities of 
gold imbedded in the earth in Mexico, the 
expense of preparing it for use from its rough 
state as found in the mine, is an item of con¬ 
siderable importance. It is easy to imagine 
that the mines of Mexico abound in lumps of 
solid gold, but the truth is far different; nor 
would it at all benefit America if gold could 
be produced at one half its present cost. The 
most favored nation in this respect (Spain) has 
dwindled from a powerful people to an indo¬ 
lent and powerless race ; while the inhabitants 
of Iceland, who have few luxuries provided 
by nature, being compelled to depend upon 
their own exertions for a livelihood, present an 
example for morality and intelligence which 
might be copied by nations whose lots are 
cast in countries abounding, as it were in milk 
and honey. 


REMEDIES AGAINST MOTHS. 

These very troublesome and destructive 
little depredators may, with a little trouble, 
be effectually removed, and rooms, drawers, 
&c., be kept free from them for years. The 
hints given in the following remarks from the 
London Magazine will be valuable to those 
good housewives who have not, hitherto, 
availed themselves of similar means for the 
extermination of this insect. The writer says : 
It is an old custom with some housewives to 
throw into their drawers every year a number 
of fir cones, under the idea that their strong 
resinous smell might keep away the moth. 
Now, as the odor of these cones is due to tur¬ 
pentine, it occurred to Reaumur to try the ef¬ 
fect of this volatile liquid. He rubbed one 


95 


side of a piece of cloth with turpentine, and 
put some grubs on the other ; the next morn¬ 
ing they were ail dead, and strange to say, 
had voluntarily abandoned their sheaths. On 
smearing some paper slightly with oil, and 
putting this into a bottle with some of the 
grubs, the weakest were immediately killed ; 
the most vigorous struggled violently for two 
or three hours, quitted their sheaths,'"and died 
in convulsions. It was soon abundantly evi¬ 
dent that the vapor of oil or spirits of turpen¬ 
tine acts as a terrible poison to the grubs. 
Perhaps it may be said that even this remedy 
is worse than the disease, but as Reaumur 
justly observes, we keep away from a newly- 
painted room, or leave off' for a few days a 
coat from which stains have been removed by 
turpentine ; why, therefore, can we not once 
a year keep away for a day or two from 
rooms that have been fumigated with turpen¬ 
tine ? 

It is, however, surprising, how small a 
quantity of turpentine is required; a small 
piece of paper or linen just moistened there¬ 
with, and put into the wardrobe or drawers a 
single day, two or three times a year, is a suf¬ 
ficient preservation against moths. A small 
quantity of turpentine dissolved in a little 
spirits of wine (the vapor of which is also 
fatal to the moth) will entirely remove the 
offensive odor, and yet be a sufficient pre¬ 
servative. The fumes of burning paper, 
wool, linen, feathers, and of leather, are also 
effectual, for the insects perish in any thick 
smoke ; but the most effectual smoke is that 
of tobacco. A coat smelling but slightly of 
tobacco is sufficient to preserve a whole draw¬ 
er. The vapor of turpentine and the smoke 
of tobacco are also effectual in driving away 
flies, spiders, ants, earwigs, bugs, and fleas. 


“The Laborer is worthy of his Hire.” 
—Man does not deal with his brother as God 
deals with him. He causes the sun to shine* 
and his showers to descend with equal profu¬ 
sion upon all—both upon the high and the 
low, the rich and the poor. But in adjusting 
the rewards of labor, we adopt no such equi¬ 
table rule. We pay largely for labor of the 
head, and little for the labor of the hands. 
We graduate the scale of the prices, not ac¬ 
cording to the utility or the actual severity of 
the labor—not in proportion to the outlay of 
physical strength, or the time occupied—but 
to the demand and supply. Hence that class 
of mankind—laborers, being the most numer¬ 
ous class—are the worst-paid people in society. 
We can not control the laws of nature, yet this 
we may do: pay as liberally as we can afford 
for labor, common labor, the labor of the poor. 













96 CONSOLATIONS.—HOW TO MAKE STEEL. 


CONSOLATIONS. 

My father, our work is fatiguing to-day; 
the spade rebounds upon the parched earth; 
the sun darts rays of fire; the dust raised by 
the south wind blows in whirlwinds over the 
plain. 

My son, He who sends burning gales sends 
also bedewing cloudlets. To each day belongs 
its pain and its hope, and after labor comes 
repose. 

My father, do you see those poor plants, 
how they languish, and how their yellow 
leaves droop down their exhausted stalk ? 

They will rise up again, my son; no blade 
of grass is forgotten ; fruitful rains and fresh 
dews are always provided for it amidst the 
celestial treasures. 

My father, the birds are silent in the foliage ; 
the quail, immoveable in the furrow does not 
even recal its companion ; the heifer seeks the 
shade ; and the ox, with his limbs folded be¬ 
neath his heavy body, his neck stretched out, 
dilates his large nostrils, in order to respire 
the air which he is in need of. 

God, my son, will restore the birds their 
voices, and the oxen their strength, exhausted 
by the extreme heat. The breeze which will 
reanimate them already glides over the sea. 

Let us seat ourselves, my father, upon the 
fern that borders the pond, near that old oak 
whose hanging branches so gently touch the 
surface of the water. How calm and trans¬ 
parent it is! How gayly the fishes play 
there! Some pursue their winged prey, poor 
gnats just entered into being; others, raising 
their heads, with their mouths half open, 
appear to be softly kissing the air. 

He who has made all things, my son, has 
everywhere bestowed his inexhaustible gifts, 
life, and the joy of life. What appears to us 
evil is but the similitude of good—its shadow. 

And yet, my father, you suffer. What la¬ 
bor, what fatigue, you endure, in order to 
provide for our wants ! Are you not poor ? 
Is not my mother poor ? It is the sweat of 
your brow which has given me food; have 
you ever, for one single day, had the morrow 
provided for ? 

What signifies the morrow to us, mv son ? 
The morrow belongs to God ; let us confide 
in him. Whoso rises in the morning knows 
not whether he shall see the evening. Why, 
then, trouble and disquiet one’s self about a 
time which will perhaps never arrive? We 
live here below like the swallow, seeking from 
day to day, the bread of each day, and like 
her, when the winter approaches, a mysterious 
power draws us to milder climes. 

What is this, my father ? It resembles a 
corpse wrapped in its shroud, or an infant 
rolled in swaddling-clothes. 


My son, it was a crawling worm, it will soon 
be a living flower, an aerial form, which, 
decked in its brightest colors, will rise toward 
heaven. 


HOW TO MAKE STEEL. 

Steel is made of the purest malleable iron, 
by a process called cementation. In this 
operation, layers of malleable iron and layers 
of charcoal are placed one upon another, in a 
proper furnace, the air is excluded, the fire 
raised to a considerable degree of intensity, 
and kept up for eight or ten days. If upon 
trial of a bar, the whole substance is converted 
into steel, the fire is extinguished, and the 
whole is left to cool for six or eight days 
longer. Iron thus prepared is called blistered 
steel, from the blisters which appear on its 
surface. In England, charcoal alone is used 
for this purpose: but Duamel found an ad¬ 
vantage in using one fourth to one third of 
wood ashes, especially when the iron was not 
of so good a quality as to afford steel posses¬ 
sing tenacity of body as well as hardness. 
These ashes prevent the steel-making process 
from being effected so rapidly as it would 
otherwise be, and give the steel pliability 
without diminishing its hardness. The blis¬ 
ters on the surface of the steel, under this 
management, are smaller and more numerous. 
He also found that if the bars, when they are 
put into the furnace, be sprinkled with sea- 
salt, this ingredient contributes to give body 
to the steel. If the cementation be continued 
too long, the steel becomes porous, brittle, or 
a darker fracture, more fusible, and capable 
of being welded. On the contrary, steel ce¬ 
mented with earthly infusible powders is grad¬ 
ually reduced to the state of forged iron 
again. Excessive or repeating heat in the 
forge is attended with the same effect. 

The properties of iron are remarkably 
changed by cementation, and it acquires a 
small addition to its weight, which consists of 
the carbon it has absorbed from the charcoal, 
and amounts to about the hundred and fiftieth 
or two hundredth part. It is much more brit¬ 
tle and fusible than before ; and it may still be 
welded like bar-iron, if it has not been fused 
or over-cemented; but by far the most im¬ 
portant alteration in its properties is, that it 
can be hardened or softened at pleasure. If 
it be made red hot, and instantly cools, it at¬ 
tains a degree of hardness which is sufficient 
to cut almost any other substance; but if 
heated and cooled gradually, it becomes 
nearly as pure as iron, and may, with much 
the same facility, be manufactured into any 
determined form. 

















7 
















































































































































































































































TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 


93 



MltHMIl 


H‘HUlHUn .»lUI'»W4IMHIM»IIH,l 
jH MuTwm ...in 

i'V .1 ■ u jiiF iii'iiiimnniiniimii 
LWfMiiiiuiu nimmuiiHiiMHi 


MlltulllitllllllM" 
MUNI MM* 


iHUN- 


isBi 


iilMo7S>TitiiTJiii»iiMliiiltnMi 


|!< ,t ,Y iiu.i.fi'nnimiiiminimi' 
toiiiln'iimili ihtitniinttimiMii 


i iiTiii miiuiiiii 




Pool of Siloam. 


TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND—N°. 3, 

BY HARRIET MARTINEAU. 

There is little pleasure in visiting the 
places within the walls of Jerusalem which 
are reported by the monks to be the scenes of 
the acts and sufferings of Christ. There is 
no certainty about these ; and the spots re¬ 
garding which there can be no mistake are so 
interesting, that the mind and heart of the 
traveller turn away from such as may be fab¬ 
ulous. About the site of the temple there is 
no doubt; and beyond the walls one meets at 
every turn assurance of being where Christ 
walked and taught, and where the great events 
of Jewish history took place. Let us go over 
what I found in one ramble; and then my 
readers will see whatitmust be to take walks 
in the neighborhood of Jerusalem. 

_ tore. 


Leaving the city by the Bethlehem gate, 
we descended into the valley of Hinnom or 
Gehenna. Here there are many tombs cut 
in the rock, with entrances like door-ways. 
When I speak of Bethany, I shall have oc¬ 
casion to describe the tombs of the Jews. 
It was in this valley, and close by the foun¬ 
tain of Siloam, that in the days of Jewish 
idolatry, children passed through the fire, in 
honor of Moloch. This is the place called 
Tophet in scripture—fit to be spoken of as it 
was, as an image of hell, Here, in this place 
of corruption and cruelty, where fires hovered 
about living bodies, and worms preyed on the 
dead—hero was the imagery of terror—“ the 
worm that dieth not, and the fire that is not 
quenched.” The scene is very different now. 
The slopes are terraced, that the winter rains 
may not wash away the soil; and these ter¬ 
races were to-day green with springing wheat; 


















































































Part of the "V alley of Jehosaphat, and entrance to Jerusalem. 


r 
































































































100 


TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 



Garden of Gethsemane. 


and the spreading olives and fig trees cast 
their shadows on the rich though stony soil. 
Streams were led from the pool of Siloam 
among the fields and gardens ; and all looked 
cool and fresh in the once hellish spot. On 
the top of the opposite hill was the Field of 
Blood—the field bought as a burial-place for 
strangers, by the priests to whom Judas re¬ 
turned his bribe. For the burial of strangers, 
it was used in subsequent ages; for pilgrims 
who died at the Holy City were laid there. 
It is now no longer enclosed; but a charnel- 
house marks the spot. 

The pools all round Jerusalem are beautiful; 
the cool arching rock-roof of some, the weed- 
tufted sides and clear waters of all, are de¬ 
licious. The pool of Siloam is still pretty— 
though less so, no doubt, than when the blind 
man, sent to wash there, opened his eyes on 
its sacred stream. The fountain of Siloam is 
more beautiful than the pool. It lies deep in 
a cave, and must be reached by broad steps 
which wind down in the shadow. A woman 
sat to-day in the dim light of reflected sun¬ 
shine—washing linen in the pool. Here it 
was, that in days of old the priest came down 
with his golden pitcher, to draw water for the 
temple service; aud hither it was that the 
thought of Milton came when he sang of— 

Siloa’s brook that flowed 
Fast by the oracle of God. 


We were now in the valley of Jelioshaphat; 
and we crossed the bottom of it, where the 
brook Kedron must run when it runs at all; 
but it seems to be now merely a winter tor¬ 
rent, and never to have been a constant 
stream. When we had ascended the opposite 
side of the valley, we were on the Mount of 
Olives. The ascent was steep—now among 
tombs, and now past fields of waving barley, 
flecked with the shade of olive-trees. As we 
ascended, the opposite hill seemed to rise, and 
the city to spread. Two horsemen in the val¬ 
ley below, and a woman with a burden on her 
head, mounting to the city by a path up Mo¬ 
riah, looked so surprisingly small as to prove 
the grandeur of the scenery. Hereabouts it 
was, as it is said, and may reasonably be 
believed, that Jesus mourned over Jerusalem, 
and told his followers what would become of 
the noble city which here rose upon their view, 
crowning the sacred mount, and shining clear 
against the cloudless sky. Dwellers in our 
climate can not conceive of such a sight as 
Jerusalem seen from the summit of the Mount 
of Olives. The Moab mountains, over toward 
the Dead sea, are dressed in the softest hues 
of purple, lilac, and gray. The hill-country 
to the north is almost gaudy with its contrasts 
of color; its white or gray stones, red soil, 
and crops of vivid green. But the city is the 
glory—aloft on the steep—its long lines of 











































































TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 


wall clearly defining it to the sight, and every 
minaret and cupola, and almost every stone 
marked out by the brilliant sunshine against 
the deep blue sky. In the spaces unbuilt on 
within the walls, are tufts of verdure; and 
cypresses spring here and there from some 
convent garden. The green lawns of the 
Mosque of Omar, are spread out small before 
the eye, with their groups of tiny gay moving 
people. If it is now so glorious a place to the 
eye, what must it have been in the days of 
its pride! Yet in that day, when every one 
looked for the exulting blessing “ Peace be 
within thy walls, and prosperity within thy 
palaces !” there came instead the lamentation 
over the Jerusalem that killed the proph¬ 
ets and stoned the messengers of Jehovah, 
and whose house must be therefore left 
desolate. 

The disciples looking hence upon the 
strength of the walls, the massiveness of the 
temple buildings, then springing 480 feet from 
the bed of the brook below, and the depth 
and ruggedness of the ravines surrounding the 
city on three sides, might well ask when those 
things should be, and how they should be ac¬ 
complished. On the fourth side, the north, 
where there is no ravine, the Roman army 
was encamped. We could now see that 
rising-ground, once covered with the Roman 
tents, but to-day with corn-fields and olive- 
grounds. The Romans encamped one legion 
on the Mount of Olives; but it could not do 
any harm to the city; and the only available 
point of attack—the north side—was guarded 
by a moat and three walls. The siege was 
long; so long that men’s hearts failed them 
for fear, and at least one famished woman ate 
her own child : and at last the city was taken 
and nearly destroyed ; and of the temple, not 
one stone was left upon another. How we 
were in the midst of these scenes to-day! 
We stood where the doom was pronounced; 
below us was the camp of the single legion I 
have mentioned; opposite was the humbled 
city, with the site of the temple courts; and 
over to the north was the camp of the enemy. 
Here was the whole scene of that “ great trib¬ 
ulation, such as was not known from the be¬ 
ginning of the world.” 

From the summit of Olivet, we went down 
to the scene of that other tribulation—that 
anguish of mind which had perhaps never 
been surpassed from the beginning of the 
world. “ When Jesus had spoken these 
words” (his words of cheer after the last sup¬ 
per), “ he went forth,” we are told. “ with his 
disciples over the brook Kedron, where was a 
garden.” This garden we entered to-day, 
from the other direction, and left it by crossing 
the bed of the brook. It is a dreary place 
now, very unlike what it must have been ! 


101 


when “Jesus oftimes resorted thither with his 
disciples.” It is a plot of ground on a slope 
above the brook, enclosed with fences of loose 
stones, and occupied by eight extremely old 
olive-trees—the oldest, I should think, that 
we saw in all our travels. I do not mean that 
they could have been growing in the days of 
Christ. That is supposed to be impossible ; 
though I never could learn what is the great¬ 
est age known to be attained by the olive- 
tree. The roots of these were supported by 
little terraces of stones, that neither trees nor 
soil might be washed down the slope by the 
winter torrents. But little remains of these 
once fine trees but hollow trunks and a few 
straggling branches. It is with the mind’s 
eye that we must see the filling up of this 
garden enclosure where Jesus “ oftimes resort¬ 
ed thither”—its orchard of fig, pomegranate, 
and olive-trees, and the grass or young spring, 
ing com under foot. From every part of it 
the approach of Judas and his party must 
have been visible. By their “lanterns and 
torches and weapons,” gleaming in the light, 
they must have been seen descending the hill 
from the city gate. The sleeping disciples 
may not have heeded the lights and footsteps 
of the multitude ; but step by step as it wound 
down the steep, and then crossed the brook, 
and turned up to the garden, the victim knew 
that the hour of his fate drew on. 

By the way the crowd came down, we now 
ascended toward the city, turning aside, how¬ 
ever, to skirt the north wall, instead of re¬ 
turning home through the streets. Not to 
mention now other things that we saw, we 
noted much connected with the siege:—the 
nature of the ground—favorable for the en¬ 
campment of an army, and the shallow moat 
under the walls, where the Romans brought 
two great wooden towers on wheels, that the 
men in the towers might fight on a level with 
those on the walls, and throw missiles into the 
town. This scene of conflict is very quiet 
now. A crop of barley was ripening under 
the very walls : and an Arab, with a soft, 
mild countenance, was filling his water-skins 
at the pool, called the sheep-pool, near the 
Damascus gate. The proud Roman and de¬ 
spairing Jew were not more unlike each other 
than this Arab, with his pathetic face was 
unlike them both. As he stooped under the 
dim arches of the rock, and his red cap came 
into contrast with the dark gray of the still 
water below, and the green of the dangling 
weeds over his head, our thoughts were re¬ 
called to our own day, and to a sense of the 
beauty we meet in every nook and comer of 
the Ffoly Land. 

From this ramble, my readers may see 
something of what it is to take walks in the 
neighborhood of Jerusalem. 













102 DUTIES OF SISTERS TO BROTHERS. 


DUTIES OF SISTERS TO BROTHERS, 

The important relation which sisters bear 
to brothers can not be fully appreciated with¬ 
out a greater knowledge of the world and its 
temptations to young men, than girls in their 
teens can be supposed to possess ; but they 
may be assured that their companionship and 
influence may be powerful agents in preserv¬ 
ing their brothers from dissipation, in saving 
them from dangerous intimacies, and main¬ 
taining in their minds a high standard of 
female excellence. 

If your brothers are younger than you, en¬ 
courage them to be perfectly confidential with 
you ; win their friendship by your sympathy 
in all their concerns, and let them see that 
their interests and their pleasures are liberally 
provided for in the family arrangements. 
Never disclose their little secrets, however 
unimportant they may seem to you; never 
pain them by any ill-timed joke, never repress 
their feelings by ridicule ; but be their ten- 
derest friend, and then you may become their 
ablest adviser. If separated from them by 
the course of school or college education, 
make a point of keeping up your intimacy by 
full, free, and affectionate correspondence; 
and when they return to the paternal roof, at 
that awkward age between youth and man¬ 
hood, when reserve creeps over the mind, like 
an impenetrable veil, suffer it not to interpose 
between you and your brothers. Cultivate 
their friendship and intimacy with all the ad¬ 
dress and tenderness you possess; for it is of 
unspeakable importance to them that their sis¬ 
ters should be their confidential friends. Con¬ 
sider the loss of a ball or party, for the sake 
of making the evening pass pleasantly to 
your brothers at home, as a small sacrifice; 
one you should unhesitatingly make. If they 
go into company with you, see that they are 
introduced to the most desirable acquaintances, 
and show them that you are interested in 
their acquitting themselves well. 

If you are so happy as to have elder broth¬ 
ers, you should be equally assiduous in culti¬ 
vating their friendship, though the advances 
must of course be differently made. As they 
have long been accustomed to treat you as a 
child, you may meet with some repulses when 
you aspire to become a companion and a 
friend; but do not be discouraged by this. 
The earlier maturity of girls, will soon ren¬ 
der you their equal in sentiment, if not in 
knowledge, and your ready sympathy will 
soon convince them of it. They will be 
agreeably surprised when the} 1- find their for¬ 
mer plaything and messenger become their 
quick-sighted and intelligent companion, un¬ 
derstanding at a glance what is passing in 
their hearts; and love and confidence on your 


part will soon be repaid in kind. A oung men 
often feel the want of a confidential friend of 
the softer sex, to sympathize with them in 
their little affairs of sentiment, and happy are 
those who find one in a sister. 

Once possessed of an elder brother’s con¬ 
fidence, spare no pains to preserve it; convince 
him by the little sacrifices of personal con¬ 
venience and pleasure which you are willing 
to make for him, that when yon do oppose his 
wishes, it is on principle and for conscience 
sake ; then will you be a blessing to him, and, 
even when differing from you, he will love 
and respect you the more for your adherence 
to a high standard. 

So many temptations beset young men, of 
which young women know nothing, that it is 
of the utmost importance that your brothers’ 
evenings should be happily passed at home, 
that their friends should be your friends, that 
their engagements should be the same as 
yours, and that various innocent amusements 
should be provided for them in the family 
circle. Music is an accomplishment, chiefly 
valuable as a home enjoyment, as rallying 
round the piano the various members of the 
family, and harmonizing their hearts as well 
as voices, particularly in devotional strains. 
We know no more agreeable and interesting 
spectacle, than that of brothers and sisters 
playing and singing together those elevated 
compositions in music and poetry which grati¬ 
fy the taste and purity of the heart, while 
their fond parents sit delighted by. We have 
seen and heard an elder sister thus leading 
the family choir, who was the soul of harmony 
to the whole household, and whose life was a 
perfect example of those virtues which we 
are here endeavoring to inculcate. Let no 
one say that we require too much of sisters, 
that no one can be expected to lead such a 
self-sacrificing life; for the sainted one to 
whom we refer, was all that we could ask any 
sister to be, and a happier person never lived. 
“ To do good and make others happy,” was 
her rule of life, and in this she found the art 
of making herself so. 

Sisters should be always willing to walk, 
ride, and visit, with their brothers, and esteem 
it a privilege to be their companions. It is 
worth while to learn innocent games for the 
sake of furnishing brothers with amusement 
and making home the most agreeable place to 
them. 

If your brothers take an interest in your 
personal appearance and dress, you should 
encourage the feeling by consulting their taste, 
and sacrificing any little fancy of your own 
to a decided dislike of theirs. Brothers will 
generally be found strongly opposed to the 
slightest indecorum in sisters ; even those who 
are ready enough to take advantage of free- 














DUTIES OF SISTERS TO BROTHERS. 103 


dom of manners in other girls, have very- 
strict notions with regard to their own sisters. 
Their intercourse with all sorts of men ena¬ 
bles them to judge of the construction put 
upon certain actions and modes of dress and 
speech, much better than women can; and 
you will do well to take their advice on all 
such points. 

Brothers and sisters may greatly aid each 
other in judging of their friends of the oppo¬ 
site sex. Brothers can throw important light 
upon the character and merits of young men, 
because they see them when acting out their 
natures before their comrades, and relieved 
from the restraints of the drawing-room ; and 
you can in return, greatly assist your brothers 
in coming to wise and just conclusions con¬ 
cerning their female friends. Your brothers 
may be very much indebted to the quicker 
penetration of women into each other’s char¬ 
acter, and saved by your discernment from 
being fascinated by qualities that are not of 
sterling value ; but, in order to have the in¬ 
fluence necessary to such important ends, you 
must be habitually free from a spirit of de¬ 
traction, candid in all your judgments, and 
ever ready to admire whatever is lovely and 
good in your own sex. If, when you dissent 
from your brother’s too favorable opinion of a 
lady, he can with any justice charge you with 
a prejudice against her family, or a capricious 
dislike of her, your judgment, however cor¬ 
rect, will have no weight, and he will be very 
likely to become, not only the lady’s champion, 
but her lover. 

If your brothers have received a classical 
education and you are studiously inclined, 
you may derive great assistance from them in 
the cultivation of your own mind, and bind 
them still closer to you in the delightful com¬ 
panionship of literary pursuits. 

Many men who have passed unharmed 
through the temptations of youth, owed their 
escape from many dangers to the intimate 
companionship of affectionate and pure-minded 
sisters. They have been saved from hazard¬ 
ous meeting with idle company by some home 
engagement, of which their sisters were the 
charm; they have refrained from mixing with 
the impure, because they would not bring 
home thoughts and feelings which they could 
not share with those trusting and loving 
friends; they have put aside the wine-cup 
and abstained from stronger potations, because 
they would not profane with their fumes the 
holy kiss with which they were accustomed 
to bid their sisters good night. 

The duties of sisters to each other are so 
obvious and well understood, that it will be 
needless to enter fully upon them here. If 
your heart is right toward God, and you feel 
that the great business of life is the education 


of your immortal spirit for eternity, you will 
easily bear with the infirmities of others, be¬ 
cause you will be fully impressed with a sense 
of your own ; and when you can amicably 
bear and forbear, love will come in, to soften 
every asperity, heal every little wound, and 
make a band of sisters “helpers of each 
other’s joy.” 

A few cases may arise, in the most harmo¬ 
nious families, wherein sisters may not fully 
understand each other’s rights, and may there¬ 
fore ignorantly trespass upon them ; such, for 
instance, as where one of the family is very 
fond of reading, and wishes to have "a certain 
portion of her time uninterruptedlv given to 
■ that employment, and a sister keeps interrupt- 
! ing her by conversation, or appeals to her for 
aid in some lesson or piece of work. Some¬ 
times a great reader is made the butt of the 
rest of the family for that very valuable pro¬ 
pensity, and half her pleasure in it destroyed 
by its being made a standing joke among her 
brothers and sisters. 

Sisters should as scrupulously regard each 
other’s rights of property, as they would 
those of a guest staying in the house: never 
helping themselves without leave to the work¬ 
ing materials, writing implements, drawing 
apparatus, books, or clothing of each other. 
It is a mistake to suppose that the nearness of 
the relationship makes it allowable ; the more 
intimate our connexion with any one, the 
more necessary it is to guard ourselves against 
taking unwarrantable liberties. For the very 
reason that you are obliged to be so much to¬ 
gether, you should take care to do nothing 
disagreeable to each other. 

Love is a plant of delicate growth, and, 
though it sometimes springs up spontaneously, 
it will never flourish long and well without 
careful culture; and when we see how it is 
cultivated in some families, the wonder is, 
not that it does not spread so as to overshadow 
the whole circle, but that any sprig of it 
should survive the rude treatment it meets 
with. 

Genuine politeness is a great fosterer of 
family love; it allays accidental irritation, by 
preventing harsh retorts and rude contradic¬ 
tions ; it softens the boisterous, stimulates the 
indolent, suppresses selfishness, and, by form¬ 
ing a habit of consideration for others, har¬ 
monizes the whole. Politeness begets polite¬ 
ness, and brothers may be easilj won by it to 
leave oft'the rude ways they bnng home from 
school or college. Never receive any little 
attention without thanking them for it; never 
ask a favor of them but in cautious terms, 
never reply to their questions in monysyllables; 
and they will soon be ashamed to do such 
things themselves. You should labor, by pre¬ 
cept and example, to convince them, that no 








104 


DUTIES OF SISTERS TO BROTHERS. 


one can have really good manners abroad, who 
is not habitually polite at home. 

Elder sisters exert a very great influence 
over the younger children of a family, either 
for good or for evil. If you are impatient, 
unfair in your judgments, or assume too much 
authority, you injure the tempers of these lit¬ 
tle ones, make them jealous of their rights, 
and render your own position a very unpleas¬ 
ant one; whereas, if you are patient and kind, 
and found your pretensions to dictate, not on 
your age, but on truth and justice, the younger 
children will readily allow your claims. 

Young children are excellent judges of the 
motives and feelings of those who attempt to 
control them; and, if you would win their 
love, and dispose them to comply with your 
reasonable requests, you must treat them with 
perfect candor and uprightness. Never at¬ 
tempt to cheat, even the youngest, into a com¬ 
pliance with your wishes; for, though you 
succeed at the time, you lessen your influence 
by the loss of confidence which follows detec¬ 
tion. 

With every disposition to treat the younger 
ones kindly, elder sisters are often discouraged 
and discomforted by what they consider the 
over-indulgence of their parents toward the 
younger members of the family; but where 
this complaint is well founded, much is still in 
their power. They can, by judicious conduct, 
do a great deal to counteract the bad effects 
of this parental fondness, and make the little 
ones ashamed to take a mean advantage of it. 
The very indulgent are seldom just; now 
children value justice and strict adherence to 
promises more than indulgence, and you may 
mould them to your will by the exercise of 
those higher qualities. 

It is the duty of elder sisters to take a lively 
interest in the education of the younger chil¬ 
dren, and to use all the advantages which they 
have received, for the benefit of those that are 
coming forward in the same line. They 
should aid their parents in the choice of 
schools, and ascertain what is actually learned 
at them. Where circumstances render it 
necessary that the elder children should assist 
in teaching the younger ones, it should be 
done cheerfully; not as a duty merely, but as 
a useful discipline. Some writers upon edu¬ 
cation consider teaching; others as the best and 
most effectual way of learning one’s self. 
When Madame de Genlis described what she 
considered as a perfect system of education, 
she represented her models as taking younger 
children to teach as a part of their own 
instruction. It has been said that we are 
never sure that we know a thing thoroughly, 
until we have taught it to another. 

If the duty of teaching has its advantages, 
it also has its dangers: it is a very fatiguing 


occupation, and ought not to occupy too much 
of a young person’s time. Where this is re¬ 
quired of a daughter, other home-duties 
should be remitted, and her day should be so 
apportioned as to leave her ample time for ex¬ 
ercise and recreation, or the labor may prove 
injurious to her health. It is very seldom 
that one who has never attempted to teach 
others, can duly appreciate the labor of it; 
and a father so circumstanced, will sometimes 
I think that as many hours may be given to it 
as he gives to his business ; but this is a great 
mistake ; nothing is so heavy a tax on mind 
and body as the act of communicating knowl¬ 
edge to other minds; and the more intelli¬ 
gently and lovingly it is done, the greater is 
the fatigue. 

This duty should not be allowed to interfere 
with the further progress of the young teacher, 
for though it may be useful to go over old 
ground, with those who are learning, she 
should still be careful not to narrow her mind 
down to the standard of their habits ; but re¬ 
fresh and invigorate it, at the same time, by 
exploring new fields of literature. 

Those who are not called upon to teach 
younger brothers and sisters, may yet do them 
great good by exercising their minds in con¬ 
versation, and by communicating useful in¬ 
formation to them in their daily intercourse. 
The reverse of this we have sometimes ob¬ 
served with sorrow. We have seen amiable 
and well-informed girls act toward these little 
ones as if they were not at all responsible for 
the impressions they made on their tender 
minds. They would mislead a young inquirer 
by false information, and consider it a good 
joke ; or they would harrow up young and 
susceptible minds by frightful stories, which, 
though amusing at the time, could not fail to 
send the little dears trembling to bed, afraid 
of the dark, and unable to sleep for terror. 
Where, however, the elder children have 
been properly trained by the parents, such 
mistakes can not occur, and where they have 
not, it would require a volume to do justice to 
the subject. 

It is as necessary for those who are much 
with children, to have right notions about the 
manner of treating them, as for the parents 
themselves; it is therefore very desirable that 
elder sisters should read some of the excellent 
works which have been written on education. 
Among these, we would particularly recom¬ 
mend Edgeworth’s “ Practical Education,” 
Mrs. Hamilton’s “ Letters on the Elementary 
Principles of Education,” “Hints on Nursery 
Discipline,” a valuable book, republished in 
Salem a few years ago, and a late French 
work of great merit, entitled “ L’Education 
Progressive,” by Madame Necker de Saus- 
sure. These works are as entertaining as 













WINTER NOT 


they are instructive, and great pleasure might 
be found in testing some of the theories and 
maxims which they contain, by the living ex¬ 
perience of a family circle. By studying the 
subject of education, elder sisters would learn 
to regard the children around them, not merely 
as necessary interruptions and occasional play¬ 
things, but. as moral and intellectual problems, 
which they may find profit in solving. 


WINTER NOT MONOTONOUS. 

The winter landscape has been accused of 
monotony; and certainly all nature has at 
this season a less animated and varied as¬ 
pect than at any other. Unless when it is 
sprinkled over with hoar-frost, or covered 
with a cold mantle of snow, the surface of 
the earth is arrayed in a bleak and faded hue. 
The woods have* now lost the variegated foli¬ 
age that had already ceased to be their orna¬ 
ment ; and the branches of the trees, with 
their “naked shoots, barren as lances,” have 
one uniform appearance of death and decay. 
The howling of the long-continued storm, and 
the few faint bird-notes still heard at intervals 
in the thickets or hedges, are monotonously 
mournful. The devastation of the earth, and 
the sounds that seem to bewail it, are general 
and unvaried. Such, at a cursory glance, 
appear to be the aspect and tone of our winter 
scenery. But the keenly-observant eye dis¬ 
covers, even at this desolate season, and in 
the midst of seeming monotony, that endless 
variety which characterizes every province 
of creation. On close inspection, indeed, all 
we behold is varied. Whatever be the sea¬ 
son, and wherever lie the scene of our obser¬ 
vation, though many things are apparently 
similar, yet none are exactly or really so. At 
certain times and places, the mutual resem¬ 
blances between all the common objects of 
sense, all that solicits the eye or the ear in the 
landscape, may be so numerous and striking, 
that a feeling of monotony ensues ; groups of 
mournful sights and sounds may, in the dead 
of the year, successively impress us with a 
sense of melancholy, and incline us to set a 
limit to the usual prodigality of nature ; but 
yet true wisdom, aided by quick and active 
observation, easily draws the dull veil of uni¬ 
formity aside, and reveals to the admiring eye 
boundless diversity, even in the ravaged and 
gloomy scenery of winter. 

Are the woods so uniformly dead as, on a 
first survey, they appear ? The oak, the ash, 
the beech, and most of our forest-trees, have 
lost their varied foliage; bnt the numerous 
varieties of the fir and the pine retain their 


MONOTONOUS. 105 


leaves, and variegate the disrobed grove with 
their unfading verdure. In the woodland 
copse or lonely dell the evergreen still glad¬ 
dens the eye with its shining and dark green 
leaves. Nor are our shrubberies without 
their living green. Before the severity of 
winter is over, the snowdrop emerges from the 
reviving turf, the lovely and venturous herald 
of a coming host. Thus, in the period of 
frost, and snow, and vegetable death, the 
beauty of flowers is not unknown ; but rather 
what survives or braves the desolating storm 
is doubly enhanced to our eyes by the sur¬ 
rounding dreariness and decay. 

And are the atmospherical phenomena of 
this season monotonous or uninteresting ? 
Independently of the striking contrast they 
present to those of summer and autumn, they 
are of themselves grandly diversified. The 
dark and rainy storm careers over the face of 
the earth till the flooded rivers overflow their 
banks, and the forest roars like a tempestuous 
sea. The hoar-frost spangles the ground with 
a white and brilliant incrustation ; or the snow, 
falling softly, covers the wide expanse of 
mountain, and wood, and plain, with a mantle 
of dazzling purity. Then the dark branches 
of the trees, bending under a load of white 
and feathery flakes, have a picturesque aspect, 
and seem to rejoice in the substitute of their 
last foliage. And how fantastically beautiful 
are the effects of frost ! Water is transmuted 
into solid forms, of a thousand different 
shapes. The lake, and even the river itself, 
becomes a crystal floor, and the drops of the 
house-eaves collect into rows of icicles, of 
varying dimensions, differently reflecting and 
refracting the rays of the midday sun. The 
earth is bound in magical fetters, and rings 
beneath the tread. The air is pure and keen, 
yet not insufferably cold. Calm and clear 
frosty days, succeeded by nights that unveil 
the full glory of the starry firmament, are in¬ 
termingled with magnificent tempests, that 
sweep over the land and sea, and make the 
grandest music to the ear that is attuned to the 
harmonies of nature. 

Variety seems to be a universal attribute 
of creation. It is stamped upon the heavens, 
the earth, and the sea. The stars are all glo¬ 
rious, but “ one star differeth from another 
star in glory.” The sun eclipses them all, 
and the moon reigns among them like their 
queen. The earth is covered with numberless 
mountains and hills, thick as waves on the 
ocean, and more wonderfully diversified. 
From the tiny hillock to the cloud-piercing 
peak, no two eminences are wholly alike in 
shape, or size, or in any single quality. What 
valley or plain, what tree or flower, or leaf, 
or blade of grass, is. in all points, similar to 
another ? Search the whole world, and you 







106 NEAPOLITANS ON THE SEASHORE. 


will find no pair of any of these created things 
exact counterparts to each other, in regard to 
weight, color, structure, figure, or any other 
essential or accidental property. The animal 
world is as endlessly diversified. Not only is 
the distinction between the various genera 
and species wide and impassable, but between 
the individuals of each species no perfect 
similarity exists. Twins are commonly most 
like each other ; but yet we are at no loss to 
distinguish between them. Even when we 
take two parts, however apparently alike, of 
two individuals of the same species, we find 
the same diversity. The variety observable 
in the human countenance has long been a 
matter of remark and admiration. The 
general features are the same in all; but 
their color, their relative size, and numerous 
other peculiarities, are irreconcilably different. 
Hence we can at once recognise an individual 
among a thousand, even when they are of the 
same stature and complexion with himself. 

The diversity of color is truly astonishing, 
and is the source of much beauty and enjoy¬ 
ment. Though the primary colors are only 
seven, yet these are so mixed and blended 
over all nature, as to delight the eye with 
millions of different hues, of all degrees of 
depth and brilliancy. Let us look at a bed of 
blowing summer flowers, and behold the rav¬ 
ishing wonders of color. The unstained sil¬ 
very whiteness of the lily, the deep crimson 
of the rose, the dark and velvety blue of the 
violet, the bright yellow of the wallflower and 
the marigold, are but specimens of the rich 
and gorgeous hues that delight us with a sense 
of beauty and variety. The fields and lawns, 
with their bright green, spotted with white 
clover and crimson-tipped daisies ; the mead¬ 
ows, with their butter-cups, and all their pe¬ 
culiar flowers; the woods, with their fresh 
spring verdure, and their flaming autumnal 
robes; and the mountains, at one time bathed 
in a deep azure, at another shining with golden 
sunlight, all exhibit the marvellously varied 
touches of that pencil which none but an om¬ 
nipotent arm can wield. 

This universal variety is not merely a dis¬ 
play of infinite skill, but it is equally beauti¬ 
ful, pleasing, and useful. It adds immensely 
to our enjoyment of nature, and greatly en¬ 
hances our idea of God’s creative attributes. 
It furnishes us with the means of discrimina¬ 
tion, without which the earth would be to us 
a scene of confusion. Were there only one 
color, and were every mountain, for example, 
of the same shape, or every shrub and tree 
of the same size, how dull and monotonous 
would be every landscape! And if every 
human face Were exactly alike, how should 
we be able to distinguish a friend from an 
enemy, a neighbor from a stranger, a country¬ 


man from a foreigner. Or, to take an exam¬ 
ple still more impressive, were the powers 
and passions of every individual mind in every 
respect similar, that diversity of character 
and pursuit, which constitutes the mainspring 
of society and civilization, would not be found. 
In all this, there is an adaptation and wise 
design. Amid apparent uniformity, the neces¬ 
sary variety everywhere obtains. And sel¬ 
dom does variety run to an excess. Utter 
dissimilarity is as rare as complete resem¬ 
blance. All things are beautifully and usefully 
varied; but they also all wear the distinguish¬ 
ing mark of the same great Artist, and can all 
be arranged into classes, the individuals of 
which bear to one another the most curious 
and intimate resemblances. There is in na¬ 
ture a uniformity that is as beneficial as vari¬ 
ety itself. The leaves, flowers, and fruits, 
of a tree or shrub, though infinitely varied in 
their figure and appearance, are yet all so 
much alike, that they can easily be referred 
to their parent species. All the animals of a 
kind have each their peculiarities ; but every 
individual can at once be recognised by the 
naturalist’s practised eye. Thus has the Au¬ 
thor of all things so blended variety and uni¬ 
formity together, as to delight, yet not bewil¬ 
der us, with exhaustless variety; to enable 
us to class his works into great groups of gen- j 
era and species, and thereby to exercise our 
powers of reason and observation in tracing 
the delicate resemblances and disagreements 
that meet us in all our inquiries. O, Lord, 
every quality of thy works is the result of in¬ 
finite wisdom ! The grand diversities of the 
seasons, with all their distinguishing charac¬ 
teristics, the beautiful harmony and unlimited 
variety of nature, alike evidence thy good¬ 
ness, and demand the cheerful gratitude of 
man. 


NEAPOLITANS ON THE SEASHORE. 

We scarcely know' how in words to do jus¬ 
tice to the beautiful drawing from which our 
engraving is made. Reidel, the painter, 
though a German, has caught the spirit of the 
scene, and given us a genuine Neapolitan pic¬ 
ture. How can we wonder that such mighty 
schools of painters sprung up in Italy, when 
its women presented such enchanting models 
of grace and dignity ? Nothing can exceed 
the felicity of the grouping of the mother and 
children. Look at the young girl lying at full 
length along the ground ! How, to the life, 
we see the indolent voluptuousness of her 
race developing in her form. A true child of 
the south, she cares not for the bronzing sun, 
































on the Seashore. 
































































































































































































































































































108 


THE BOUNDLESSNESS OF THE MATERIAL UNIVERSE. 


but gazes far out into the lustrous ocean, and 
watches the white-sailed feluccas, small as 
the curved wings of seabirds; or still farther 
stretches her idle gaze to where the shadows 
of the clouds thwart with long lines of most 
delicate gray the silver shining sea. The 
mother bends her head down over her young¬ 
er child, while she clasps her beads and utters 
a prayer for the bark which is far away. The 
sad and gentle music of the sea, spreading its 
thin tide upon the sand, then singing in its re¬ 
treat amid shells and agate pebbles, murmurs 
a fitting undertone to her thoughts. 


THE BOUNDLESSNESS OF 

THE MATERIAL UNIVERSE. 

It will be immediately suggested by the 
intelligent reader that that which is material 
can not be boundless, and that therefore the 
title of the article conveys to the mind an evi¬ 
dent anomaly; but the fact in plain and sim¬ 
ple language is that not only the universe, but 
every object in nature, as we shall presently 
show, is boundless in its ramifications. Bound¬ 
lessness may be considered as synonymous 
with infinity, and there is perhaps no word 
suggesting ideas so incomprehensible and sub¬ 
lime as the word infinity; it is a word the 
meaning of which we can not conceive, and 
yet our minds crowd on through a vast and 
airy field of thought, descrying in the very 
darkness by which we are surrounded, the 
scintillations and coruscations of which we 
are led to dream. And it is because to be im¬ 
mortal is to be infinite that the mind thus 
walks upon the wind, and visits fields which 
lie beyond its ken, for it is to give but a cir¬ 
cumscribed notion of infinity to suppose that 
it can belong to Deity alone, or to the eternity 
in which Deity dwells. It is not sufficiently 
realized that eternity is one, and infinity is 
one; the infinite is that of which we can not 
conceive, the point at which the imagination 
can never arrive; and yet the infinite may be 
created; there may have been a time when 
all with it was darkness, and it may be able 
to date the moment of its birth, although it 
never can that of its consummation. We 
may see a world first launch forth through the 
fields of space; and if it were given us to 
know that planet was destined to run an im¬ 
mortal career, to know that after passing 
through a series of revolutions, each in it¬ 
self boundless to our eye, it should become 
etlierealized—why, because we saw it drink 
its first beam of glory, because we saw it dart 
its first fires over the concave of creation, and 


pour its first fragrance through the atmosphere 
—we should not the less regard it as an infinite 
in the germ, as an immortal in the bud. 

And it is when viewed in this light that the 
universe presents an aspect of unbounded and 
unlimited creation; as far as the eye of intel¬ 
ligence can glance, it sees matter, and that 
matter in a state of motion ; and if it casts its 
eye upward it loses itself in a wilderness of 
worlds, and if it casts its eye downward it 
loses itself in a wilderness of ages ; if it ana¬ 
lyze a drop of water it beholds it peopled with 
forms of life so infinitesimal, that all power 
of calculation drops the wing and flags in the 
august attempt to convey the idea of number. 
But it will be said that properly speaking this 
does not convey the idea of boundlessness. 
“ Although,” it may be said, “ imperceptible 
to us, creation doubtless has a termination; 
and if our apprehension were greater we 
might calculate the animalculae which swarm 
in the drop of water, and the stars which 
wander through the nebulaeyet even this 
is doubtful, it is ground for more than hypoth¬ 
esis ; we certainly dare not sav that nature is 
not boundless in its extent. \Ve must meas¬ 
ure objects by their ends ; and if, after tracing 
them accurately through a long series of pro¬ 
cessions and circumstances, we at last lose 
sight of them in a vast void, which no plum¬ 
met can fathom, no compass describe, no tel¬ 
escope scan, no chronology date, what is that 
but infinity ? An instance is at hand : let us 
throw a glance over our globe’s unwritten his¬ 
tory, let us trace it through all its gradations 
up to the present time, and what are the con¬ 
clusions we derive from the facts ? We are 
conducted to a period of wild and fearful gran¬ 
deur, the reign of darkness and chaos, when 
the atoms were first congregating which were 
to form our planet, and attained a state of fix¬ 
edness, the grosser separated from the more 
aerial, and thus the earth gained the first stage 
of its existence ; now from that period, when 
the thunder and clash of contending atoms, 
struggling with their own gravities, broke the 
stillness of our system, there has been a con¬ 
stant progressive development of order, and a 
progressive development of life on our globe : 
first, when our world w r as a vast ocean, with 
no land to margin its streams, we find the tril- 
obite and mollusc moving through the watery 
depths, and dwelling securely there; the 
nautilutffi then by thousands rode the waves, 
and hoisted their sails, ay, perhaps, more 
proudly than in our time. 

The waters again subsided—our world be¬ 
came then in a more strict sense of the word 
than now, a terraqueous globe ; then the sau¬ 
rian tribe, those giants of fell and flood, 
came forth to run their career*, they finished 
it; and then rose matchless forests, composed 











THE BOUNDLESSNESS OF THE MATERIAL UNIVERSE. 109 


of tlie lepidodendron and corinferere, where 
the megatherium and dinotherium roamed ; to 
these succeeded our present fair green earth, 
with its streams intersecting valleys clothed, 
with corn, and its cascades flashing down from 
mountains crowned with snow. And here 
man exists with a soul; never have a similar 
race of beings before graced the garden of our 
world; the world is now in the greenness of 
its glory, the freshness of its spring, and these 
facts bear out the notion that its career will 
be boundless. Destined for final conflagration 
it may be, but never for a funereal pile ; those 
flames will only purge it from corruption, 
and make it a brighter and better world. 
Ten thousand pent-up volcanoes may belch 
forth, and pour their liquid lava over every 
portion of our green globe ; they will but 
etherealize it, they will impart to it an im¬ 
mortality which it bore not before, and make 
it a fit residence for beings etherealized, and 
as immortal as itself. Thus in destiny, the 
material world, if not the material universe, is 
boundless. But let us disassociate this view 
of the case from the reader’s mind—let the 
universe stand as it still stands, and it is 
boundless—boundless, else show us the walls 
which mark the limits of creation ! boundless, 
else show us the window whence we may 
look forth into the depths of non-existence! 
boundless, else classify the illimitable ocean- 
tribes, and count the “stars which wander 
through the upper depths.” Boundless ! why 
every step we take in science tells us of im¬ 
mensity undreamed of before. Let us lay 
our hand on any one branch of physical sci¬ 
ence, or natural history, and boundless is the 
termination to all our inquiries. The venera¬ 
ble sires of philosophy in every age have felt 
themselves bewildered by a glance at nature; 
and our higher degree of knowledge has given 
to us a thicker shade of darkness. Chymistry, 
while it describes to us fifty-four simple sub¬ 
stances, does not forget to tell us that it went 
no farther, simply because it could go no far¬ 
ther, and not because there appeared to be an 
end of its doctrine. In geology we are darker 
still, we wander on through a million of ages, 
and seem to gain no point. Nay, what is all 
science but a subterranean temple by torch¬ 
light ; the brightest coruscations it reflects 
serve but to reveal a deeper darkness than we 
thought existed before ; the ray of light trem¬ 
bles on some ruined pillar. We copy the 
hierogly phic, but we can not decipher it; and 
as we wander on through the long temple, col¬ 
umn after column attracts our notice, full of 
meaning, but darkness invests them all. 

But we must not conceal from ourselves 
that discovery and knowledge are light, al¬ 
though they leave many additional doubts and 
perplexities upon the mind. The joy which 


rushes over the spirit of the discoverer after 
his long years of patient study is too great for 
him to mark : the darkness from his discovery 
only stands out as it were in bold outline. 
Philosophers have in all ages been ascending 
as it were an inclined plane, and every suc¬ 
ceeding age has left those of the preceding f ar 
behind. If we may quote a noble illustration 
from the splendid work of Professor Nichols 
on “ The Architecture of the Heavenswe 
might suppose a North American Indian who 
had been buried the whole of his existence in 
one wild wood, and had never dreamed of the 
existence of other woods, far less of other 
lands; yet one day he arrives in the chase at 
the foot of a lofty mountain, he ascends it, 
and he finds fresh scenes of green glory rush¬ 
ing on his eye; he sees forests stretching all 
around him, and wild streams dancing amid 
valleys of which he had never dreamed 
before ; and he stares, and starts with wonder 
and amaze. Yet we know that he has seen 
nothing, and that what his eye thought so vast 
was but a mere speck in the circle of the 
world. And are we not realizing the wonder 
of the Indian every day ? What are our 
proud observations but rising knolls (are they 
so much in the universe ?) whence we can 
descry here a stream and there a stream ; here 
a forest and there a forest, while the vast and 
sounding ocean, and the mountain chain, and 
nature’s more attractive glories are hid from 
our eye ? AYe said they were hid from our 
eye ; but suppose that we were able to per¬ 
ceive all, would not the very vastitude by 
which we were surrounded when made so 
manifest become painful ? If our eyes were 
so opened that we could see the atmosphere 
which we inhaled or exhaled, crowded with 
animal existences ; the water we drank teem¬ 
ing with life; if we saw that at every step 
we took we crushed millions of insects, would 
not our position be horrible? should we not 
loathe ourselves and loathe the world ? Phi¬ 
losophers would not then see the wisdom in 
the economy of creation which they now see ; 
an awful blindness would settle on the eyes, 
and only would they wake to create a shud¬ 
der at the horrible forms by which they saw 
themselves surrounded. An idea something 
like this seemed to have flitted across the mas¬ 
culine mind of that prince of novelists, Bul- 
wer. In his Arasmanes, an allegorical tale, 
in the second volume of the Student, he rep¬ 
resents his hero as having his eyes thus 
opened : first to beauty, and second to deform¬ 
ity. The baronet stated that it originated not 
altogether in fiction, but from a melancholy 
case of hypochondriasis which came under his 
own observation in Italy. The patient, a man 
of genius and a philosopher, expired under the 
impression that he was surrounded by life in 













THE BOUNDLESSNESS OF THE MATERIAL UNIVERSE. 


110 


its most horrible forms, entering into the at¬ 
mosphere he inhaled, and mingling with every 
circumstance of his life. 

But what is the universe ? Is it sufficient 
to describe it as the area of creation—the 
theatre where God works his manifest marvels 
in the eyes of all intelligences ? The universe 
is an invisible world; it is haunted through all 
its extent with things of life; and doubtless 
there are eyes which see them better than 
ours. What are the view's which open to the 
inhabitants of the planets ? these moons and 
satellites, what a boundless theme for con¬ 
jecture, the varied characters, feelings, and 
emotions, of the dwellers on those immense 
bodies which roll so far beyond us; but the 
scene from the smallest, namely, the moon, 
must be most interesting to ourselves. The 
earth, to the inhabitants of that body, must 
seem the most splendid orb in the vast field 
of creation, with a surface thirteen times 
larger than she appears to us. They can 
plainly distinguish our seas, apparently un¬ 
ruffled by storms. They can behold our im¬ 
mense mountains and caverns, and glory in 
the splendor reflected from our planet, as we 
joy in the pale rays emitted from theirs. 

The universe is boundless. There are 
many, doubtless, who will think we have laid 
down an axiom, but by no means logically or 
mathematically proved it; and perhaps this 
arises greatly from the fact that there seems 
no necessity to do so. Why labor out an 
elaborate essay to prove what every school¬ 
boy believed, that boundlessly we are sur¬ 
rounded by evidences of mind. Let the moon 
be no larger than the shields of our sires, the 
stars but insignificant somethings wdiich ap¬ 
pear to gem the vault of night, and even then 
the universe to us is boundless; but tell us 
of laws which rule those stars; tell us that 
the sun is one million of times larger than the 
earth, and that the nearest of those twinkling 
stars, wdiich seem so small, is thirty-two mil¬ 
lions of millions of miles distant, and the 
frame is paralyzed at its own insignificancy. 
The gazer turns from the mighty orbs, wheel¬ 
ing their ponderous forms through space, and 
shudders and shrinks within himself, horrified 
at his own puerility in the eyes of the mighty 
Architect. Nay, O man ! shrink nor shudder 
not; thou art second only to those august and 
majestic fires, wdiich flash in majesty and roll 
in might through nature’s gloom. Nay, O 
man ! thou art more. On thy brow is the 
stamp of eternity, for thou art the image of 
thy maker, God; and though the stars per¬ 
form in grandeur their motions, and sweetly 
sing as they wheel onward in their spheres, 
thou art more curiously wrought than they, 
and thy life more curiously sustained than 
theirs. The hand which first launched them 


away; the finger which first gave to them 
their unalterable law, has never touched them 
since ; they have but one principle to govern 
them, but one law to guide. But thou, O 
man ! art thy Maker’s master-piece. Every 
gland, every bone, every muscle, attests a 
special design worthy of a God; nor canst 
thou breathe unless sixty billions of separate 
intentions put forth their energies. Thou art 
greater than a star, O man ! 

Boundless immensity! whither am I car¬ 
ried ? where is the mighty goal, the destina¬ 
tion of these awful travellings ? Stars can 
not tell; onward they sweep in matchless 
myriads, and the gleams reflected on their 
surface tell of stars beyond them. They are 
not the goal of boundlessness. Waves can 
not tell; they roll, and clash, and roar, they 
ripple at our feet, or thunder on our vessel—- 
images of eternity—they can not tell; we see 
neither their beginning nor their end.—They 
are not the goal of boundlessness. Winds! 
mighty winds! harpers of the mount, and 
the forest, and the glen, ye shall tell; for often 
are ye silent, and ye wake no response around 
ye. No, the winds can not tell; some leaf is 
always moving, some breeze is always sigh¬ 
ing, some tempest is always swelling, to indi¬ 
cate their restless activity, to speak the pres¬ 
ence of their power. Winds can not tell;— 
they are not the goal of boundlessness; and 
naught in nature can tell, for all is action, all 
is boundless. No eye hath ever been blinded 
by the darkness of that part of space where 
God is not in his works. A void in the uni¬ 
verse ! it would be at once to say that Deity 
had expended his machinery, that there was 
a void in the Divine Mind. Let us allow 
that there are parts of space unpeopled with 
the creations of intelligence, and by a very 
slow process of reasoning, we may reduce the 
plenipotencv which arms the Eternal, to the 
weakness and imperfection which mark the 
creature. We can form no conception of De¬ 
ity, but we know that the majesty of his 
power has crowded all space with the mighty 
configurations of his glory. A boundless uni¬ 
verse ! then there is no such being as an athe¬ 
ist ; and here we take up the beautiful idea 
of that first of modem classical essayists, 
John Foster, in his important essay on the 
dearth of Christianity among men of genius. 
He reasons thus : Flow can men deny the ex¬ 
istence of a Deity unless they have travelled 
through all space to discover whether he might 
not have revealed himself ? Every record of 
all time, of every land, must be laid open be¬ 
fore the atheist; every planet and star must 
unfold its history; and if there be other 
bodies far off in space, governed not by plane¬ 
tary law, and neither planets nor stars, but in¬ 
habited by intelligences, their history must be 














COD-FISHING. HI 


known too ; and until lie knows tliis, and lias 
inquired at all these places, whether Deity has 
never been known to reveal himself, he is not 
at liberty to say there is no God. This idea 
has been borrowed and carried out by Doctor 
Chalmers, in his Bridgewater Treatise. But 
oh ! why should we travel so far when bound¬ 
lessness breathes all around, and that bound¬ 
lessness caused by God. Boundlessness is 
written in letters of lightning on the black 
tliunder-cloud—we know not whence it com- 
eth nor whither it goeth; boundlessness on 
the petals of the flower bowing on its calyx ; 
myriad veins defy the most intense microscopic 
ken; boundlessness in the colors of the rain¬ 
bow, the fires of the aurora, the insect and 
the animal tribe, with all their train. The 
universe in all the extent of its creation, teems 
with boundlessness, and that because God 
himself is boundless. 


COD-FISHING, 

Although I had seen, as I thought, abun¬ 
dance of fish along the coasts of the Floridas, 
the numbers which I found in Labrador quite 
astonished me. Should your surprise, while 
reading the following statements be as great 
as mine was, while observing the facts related, 
you will conclude, as I have often done, that 
Nature’s means for providing small animals 
for the use of larger ones, and vice versa , are 
as ample as is the grandeur of that world 
which he has so curiously constructed. 

The coast of Labrador is visited by Eu¬ 
ropean as well as American fishermen, all of 
whom are, I believe, entitled to claim portions 
of fishing-ground, assigned to each nation by 
mutual understanding. For the present, how¬ 
ever, I shall confine my observations to those 
of our own country, who, after all, are proba¬ 
bly the most numerous. The citizens of Bos¬ 
ton, and many other of our eastern seaports, 
are those who chiefly engage in this depart¬ 
ment of our commerce. Eastport, in Maine, 
sends out every year a goodly fleet of schoon¬ 
ers and “ pickaxes” to Labrador, to procure 
cod, mackerel, halibut, and sometimes her¬ 
ring, the latter being caught in the interme¬ 
diate space. The vessels from that port, and 
others in Maine and Massachusetts, sail as 
soon as the warmth of spring has freed the 
gulf of ice, that is, from the beginning of 
May to that of June. 

A vessel of one hundred tons or so, is pro¬ 
vided with a crew of twelve men, who are 
equally expert as sailors and fishers, and for 
every couple of these hardy tars, a Hampton 


boat is provided, which is lashed cn the deck, 
or hung in stays. Their provision is simple, 
but of good quality, and it is very seldom that 
any spirits are allowed; beef, pork, and bis¬ 
cuit, with water, being all they take with 
them. The men are supplied with warm 
clothing, water-proof oiled jackets and trou¬ 
sers, large boots, broad-brimmed hats with a 
round crown, and stout mittens, with a few 
shirts. The owner or captain furnishes them 
with lines, hooks, and nets, and also provides 
the bait best adapted to insure success. The 
hold of the vessel is filled with casks of va¬ 
rious dimensions, some containing salt, and 
others for the oil that may be procured. 

The bait generally used at the beginning of 
the season, consists of muscles salted for the 
purpose; but as soon as the capelings reach 
the coast, they are substituted to save expense ; 
and in many instances, the flesh of gannets 
and other sea-fowls is employed. The wages 
of fishermen vary from sixteen to thirty dol¬ 
lars per month, according to the qualifications 
of the individual. 

The labor of these men is excessively hard, 
for, unless on Sunday, their allowance of rest 
in the twenty-four hours, seldom exceeds 
three. The cook is the only person who fares 
better in this respect, but he must also assist 
in curing the fish. He has breakfast, consist¬ 
ing of coflee, bread, and meat, ready for the 
captain and the whole crew, by three o’clock 
every morning, excepting Sunday. Each 
person carries with him his dinner ready 
cooked, which is commonly eaten on the fish¬ 
ing-grounds. 

Thus, at three in the morning, the crew 
are prepared for their day’s labor, and ready 
to betake themselves to their boats, each of 
which has two oars and lugsails. They all de¬ 
part at once, and either by rowing or sailing, 
reach the banks to which the fishes are known 
to resort. The little squadron drop their 
anchors at short distances from each other, in 
a depth of from ten to twenty feet, and the 
business is immediately commenced. Each 
man has two lines, and each stands in one end 
of the boat, the middle of which is boarded 
off to hold the fish. The baited lines have 
been dropped into the water, one on each side 
of the boat; their leads have reached the 
bottom, a fish has taken the hook, and after 
giving the line a slight jerk, the fisherman 
hauls up his prize with a continued pull, 
throws the fish athwart a small round bar of 
iron placed near his back, which forces open 
the mouth, while the weight of the body, 
however small the fish may be, tears out the 
hook. The bait is still good, and over the 
side the line again goes, to catch another fish, 
while that on the left is now drawn up, and 
the same course pursued. In this manner, a 










112 COD-FISHING. 

fisher busily plying at each end, the operation 
is continued until the boat is so laden, that 
her gunwale is brought within a few inches 
of the surface, when they return to the ves¬ 
sel in harbor, seldom distant more than eight 
miles from the banks. 

During the greater part of the day, the 
fishermen have kept up a constant conversa¬ 
tion, of which the topics are the pleasure of 
finding a good supply of cod, their domestic 
affairs, the political prospects of the nation, 
and other matters similarly connected. Now 
the repartee of one elicits a laugh from the 
other; this passes from man to man, and the 
whole flotilla enjoy the joke. The men of 
one boat strive to outdo those of the others in 
hauling up the greatest quantity of fish in a 
given time, and this forms another source of' 
merriment. The boats are generally filled 
about the same time, and all return together. 

Arrived at the vessel, each man emplo}^ a 
pole armed with a bent iron, resembling the 
prong of a hay-fork, with which he pierces 
the fish, and throws it with a jerk on deck, 
counting the number thus discharged, with a 
loud voice. Each cargo is thus safely depos¬ 
ited, and the boats instantly return to the fish¬ 
ing-ground, when, after anchoring, the men 
eat their dinner and begin anew. There, 
good reader, with your leave, I will let them 
pursue their avocations for awhile, as I am 
anxious that you should witness what is doing 
on board the vessel. 

The captain, four men, and the cook, have, 
in the course of the morning, erected long 
tables fore and aft the main hatchway, they 
have taken to the shore most of the salt-bar¬ 
rels, and have placed in a row their large 
empty casks, to receive the livers. The hold 
of the vessel is quite clear, except a corner 
where there is a large heap of salt. And now 
the men, having dined precisely at twelve, 
are ready with their large knives. One be¬ 
gins with breaking olf the head of the fish, a 
slight pull of the hand and a gash with the 
knife effecting this in a moment. He slits up 
its belly, with one hand pushes it aside to his 
neighbor, then throws overboard the head, and 
begins to prepare another. The next man 
tears out the entrails, separates the liver, 
which he throws into a cask, and casts the 
rest overboard. A third person dexterously 
passes his knife beneath the vertebra of the 
fish, separates them from the flesh, heaves 
the latter through the hatchway, and the for¬ 
mer into the water. 

Now, if you will peep into the hold, you 
will see the last stage of the process, the salt¬ 
ing and packing. Six experienced men gen¬ 
erally manage to head, gut, bone, salt, and 
pack, all the fish caught in the morning, by 
the return of the boats with fresh cargoes, 

when all hands set to work, and clear the deck 
of the fish. Thus their labors continue until 
twelve o’clock, when they wash their faces 
and hands, put on clean clothes, hang their 
fishing-apparel on the shrouds, and, betaking 
themselves to the forecastle, are soon in a 
sound sleep. 

At three, next morning, comes the captain 
from his berth, rubbing his eyes, and in a loud 
voice calling: “ All hands, ahoy !” Stiffened 
in limb, and but half awake, the crew quickly 
appear on the deck. Their fingers and hands 
are so cramped and swollen by pulling the 
lines, that it is difficult for them to straighten 
even a thumb ; but this matters little at pres¬ 
ent ; for the cook, who had a good nap yes¬ 
terday, has risen an hour before them, and 
prepared their coffee and eatables. Breakfast 
despatched, they exchange their clean clothes 
for the fishing-apparel, and leap into their 
boats, which had been washed the previous 
night, and again the flotilla bounds to the 
fishing-ground. 

As there may be not less than a hundred 
schooners or pickaxes in the harbor, three 
hundred boats resort to the banks each 
day; and, as each boat may procure two 
thousand cods per diem, when Saturday night 
comes, about six hundred thousand fishes have 
been brought to the harbor. This having 
caused some scarcity on the fishing-grounds, 
and Sunday being somewhat of an idle day, 
the captain collects the salt ashore, and sets 
sail for some other convenient harbor, which 
he expects to reach long before sunset. If the 
weather be favorable, the men get a good deal 
of rest during the voyage, and on Monday 
things go on as before. 

I must not omit to tell you, reader, that 
while proceeding from one harbor to another, 
the vessel has passed near a rock, which is 
the breeding-place of myriads of puffins. 
She has laid to for an hour or so, while part 
of the crew have landed, and collected a store 
of eggs, excellent as a substitute for cream, 
and not less so when hard boiled as food for 
the fishing-grounds. I may as well inform 
you, also, how these adventurous fellows dis¬ 
tinguish the fresh eggs from the others. They 
fill up some large tubs with water, throw in a 
quantity of eggs, and allow them to remain a 
minute or so, when those which come to the 
surface are tossed overboard, and even those 
that manifest any upward tendency, share 
the same treatment. All that remain at bot¬ 
tom, you may depend upon it, good reader, 
are perfectly sound, and not less palatable than 
any that you have ever eaten, or that your 
best guinea-fowl has just dropped in your 
barn-yard. But let us return to the cod-fish. 

The fish already procured and salted, is 
taken ashore at the new harbor, by part of 










KINDNESS AND CENSORIOUSNESS. 


113 


the crew, whom the captain has marked as 
the worst hands at fishing. There, on the 
bare rocks, or on elevated scaffolds of con¬ 
siderable extent, the salted cods are laid side 
by side to dry in the sun. They are turned 
several times a day, and in the intervals the 
men bear a hand on board at clearing and 
stowing away the daily produce of the fishing- 
banks. Toward evening, they return to the 
drying-grounds, and put up the fish in piles, 
resembling so many haystacks, disposing 
those toward the top in such a manner that 
the rain can not injure them, and placing a 
heavy stone on the summit to prevent their 
being thrown down should it blow hard during 
the night. You see, reader, that the life of a 
Labrador fisherman is not one of idleness. 

The capelings have approached the shores, 
and in myriads enter every basin and stream, 
to deposite their spawn, for now July is ar¬ 
rived. The cods follow them, as the blood¬ 
hound follows his prey, and their compact 
masses literally line the shores. The fisher¬ 
men now adopt another method: they have 
brought with them long and deep seines, one 
end of which is, by means of a line, fastened 
to the shore, while the other is, in the usual 
manner, drawn out in a broad sweep, to en¬ 
close as great a space as possible, and hauled 
on shore by means of a capstan. Some of 
the men in boats support the corked part of 
the net, and beat the water, to frighten the 
fishes within toward the land, while others, 
armed with poles, enter the water, hook the 
fishes, and fling them on the beach, the net 
being gradually drawn closer as the number 
of fishes diminishes. What do you think, 
reader, as to the number of cods secured in 
this manner at a single haul ?—thirty, or 
thirty thousand ? You may form some notion 
of the matter when I tell you that the young 
gentlemen of my party while going along the 
shores, caught codfish alive, with their hands, 
and trouts, of many pounds weight, with a 
piece of twine and a mackerel-hook hung to 
their gun-rods; and that, if two of them 
walked knee-deep along the rocks, holding a 
handkerchief by the corners, they swept it 
full of capelings. Should you not trust me 
in this, I refer you to the fishermen them¬ 
selves, or recommend you to go to Labrador, 
where you will give credit to the testimony 
of your eyes. 

The “seining” of the codfish, I believe, is 
not quite lawful, for a great proportion of the 
codlings which are dragged ashore at last, are 
so small as to be considered useless ; and, in¬ 
stead of being returned to the water, as they 
ought to be, are left on the shore, where they 
are ultimately eaten by bears, wolves, and ra¬ 
vens. The fishes taken along the coast, or 
on fishing-stations only a few miles off, are of J 


small dimension; and I believe I am correct 
in saying that few of them weigh more than 
two pounds, when perfectly cured, or exceed 
six, when taken out of the water. The fish 
are liable to several diseases, and at times are 
annoyed by parasitic animals, which in a short 
time render them lean and unfit for use. 

Some individuals, from laziness, or other 
causes, fish with naked hooks, and thus fre¬ 
quently wound the cod without securing them, 
in consequence of which, the shoals are driven 
away, to the detriment of the other fishers. 
Some carry their cargoes to other parts before 
drying them, while others dispose of them to 
agents from distant shores. Some have only 
a pickaxe of fifty tons, while others are own¬ 
ers of seven or eight vessels of equal or larger 
burden ; but whatever be their means, should 
the season prove favorable, they are generally 
well repaid for their labor. I have known 
instances of men, who, on their first vo} T age, 
ranked as “boys,” and in ten years after were 
in independent circumstances, although they 
still continued to resort to the fishing-grounds; 
“For,” said they to me, “how could we be 
content to spend our time in idleness at 
home ?” 1 know a person of this class, who 

has carried on the traffic for many years, and 
who has quite a little fleet of schooners, one 
of which, the largest and most beautifully 
built, has a cabin as neat and comfortable 
as any that I have ever seen in a vessel of 
the same size. This vessel took fish on board 
only when perfectly cured, or acted as pilot 
to the rest, and now and then would return 
home with an ample supply of halibut, or 
a cargo of prime mackerel. Audubon. 


KINDNESS AND CENSORIOUSNESS. 

Observation shows that those persons 
who indulge most in a fault-finding, bitter 
spirit, always have the most faults of charac¬ 
ter themselves, and are the most deficient in 
excellent virtues. A censorious, bitter per¬ 
son, is apt to be one of a narrow and preju¬ 
diced mind, not liberalized by extensive ac¬ 
quaintance with men or things, and generally 
self-conceited, contemptuous, and positive, just 
in proportion to his own littleness of mind and 
personal unworthiness. 

A truly great mind, or a great heart, is never 
contemptuous or scornful, or bitter against 
others, but has always too much knowledge 
or too much goodness for that, or both, and 
too intimate an acquaintance with self and 
personal frailties, to allow of the tongue’s 
dwelling censoriously upon the faults of others. 
When Goethe was already an old man, he 


8 











THE HAMMER. 


114 


said : “ As I grow old, I become more lenient 
to the sins of "frail humanity. The man who 
loudly denounces, I always suspect. He 
knows too much of crime, who denounces a 
fellow-creature unheard—a knowledge which 
can only be obtained by criminality itself. 
The hypocrite always strives to divert atten¬ 
tion from his own wickedness, by denouncing 
unsparingly that of others. He thinks he 
shall seem good, in exact ratio as he makes 
others seem bad.” We may treasure up such 
remarks of the follies or vices of our neighbors 
as may be a constant guard against our prac¬ 
tice of the same, without exposing the reputa¬ 
tion of our neighbor on that account. 

Those who are truly kind and noble by na¬ 
ture, like the truly modest and pure, are most 
likely to think others so likewise ; whereas, 
the naturally mean, vulgar, and immodest, are 
apt to charge others with being so, just in pro¬ 
portion as all that they have of nobility or 
modesty is counterfeit. They seem to forget 
that while to the pure all things are pure, the 
calling of attention to an .immodest thing or 
speech is far more immodest than the thing 
itself, and that commenting upon an indelicacy 
and so making it noticeable, is itself the most 
highly indelicate. 

It is an old proverb, that whom you injure 
vou hate, and it is indeed true that a mqn is 
far more likely to become an enemy to one 
whom he has injured, than to one that has in¬ 
jured him. So, to be seen by another in a 
humiliating position, or in a fit of ill temper 
or sensuality, will ever after make that person 
an enemy to the one that is so unfortunate as 
to have been a witness to his weakness or 
misconduct, such is the vice of human nature, 
as exhibited in some characters. 

On this principle it is that Borrow says of 
Portugal, in his book entitled ‘ k The Bible in 
Spain,” that “ the English, who were never 
at war with Portugal, who have fought for 
its independence on land and sea, and squan¬ 
dered blood and treasure in its defence, and 
always with success ; who have forced them¬ 
selves, by a treaty of commerce, to drink its 
coarse and filthy wines, which no other nation 
cares to taste, are the most unpopular people 
that visit Portugal. The French have rav¬ 
aged the country with fire and sword, and 
shed the blood of its sons like water; the 
Frencli will not buy its fruits, and they loathe 
its wines, yet there is no bad spirit in Portugal 
toward the French. The reason of this is 
no mystery; it is the nature, not of the Por¬ 
tuguese only, but of corrupt and unregenerate 
man, to dislike his benefactors, who, by con¬ 
ferring benefits upon him, mortify in the most 
generous manner his miserable vanity. There 
is no country in which the English are so pop¬ 
ular as in Franee; but though the French 


have been frequently roughly handled by the 
English, and have seen their capital occupied 
by an English army, they have never been 
subjected to the ignominy of receiving assist¬ 
ance from them.” There is both philosophy 
and truth to nature in this, as applicable to 
the relations of nations as of individuals. 


THE HAMMER, 

The hammer is the universal emblem of 
mechanics. With it are alike forged the 
sword of contention, and the ploughshare of 
peaceful agriculture, the press of the free, 
and the shackle of the slave. The eloquence 
of the forum has moved the armies of Greece 
and Rome to a thousand battle-fields, but the 
eloquence of the hammer has covered those 
fields with victory or defeat. The inspiration 
of song has kindled up high hopes and noble 
aspirations in the bosoms of brave knights 
and gentle dames, but the inspiration of the 
hammer has strewn the field with tattered 
helm and shield, decided not only the fate of 
chivalric combat, but the fate of thrones, 
crowns, and kingdoms. The forging of thun¬ 
derbolts was ascribed by the Greeks as the 
highest act of Jove’s omnipotence, and their 
mythology beautifully ascribes to one of their 
gods the task of presiding at the labors of the 
forge. In ancient warfare, the hammer was 
a powerful weapon, independent of the blade 
which it formed. Many a stout scull was 
broken through the cap and helm by a blow 
of Vulcan’s weapon. The armies of the 
Crescent would have subdued Europe to the 
sway of Mohammed, but on the plains of 
France their progress was arrested, and the 
brave and simple warrior who saved Christen¬ 
dom from the sway of the Mussulman was 
named Martel—“ the hammer.” How sim¬ 
ple, how appropriate, how grand—“ the ham¬ 
mer.” The hammer is the savior and bul¬ 
wark of Christendom. The hammer is the 
wealth of nations. By it are forged the pon¬ 
derous engine and the tiny needle. It is an 
instrument of the savage and the civilized. 
Its merry clink points out the abode of indus¬ 
try—it is a domestic ditty, presiding over the 
grandeur of the most wealthy and ambitious, 
as well as the humble and impoverished. 
Not a stick is shaped, not a house is raised, a 
ship floats, or carriage rolls, a wheel spins, an 
engine moves, a press speaks, a viol sings, a 
spade delves or a flag waves, without the ham¬ 
mer. Without the hammer civilization would 
be unknown, and the human species only as 
defenceless brutes, but in skilful hands, di¬ 
rected by wisdom, it is an instrument of 
power, of greatness, and true glory. 














USE OF ELEPHANTS IN WAR. 


115 


ANCIENT 

USE OF ELEPHANTS IN WAR. 

The military history of elephants com¬ 
mences with the invasion of India by Alex¬ 
ander the Great; the battle fought by Porus 
is the first well-authenticated account of their 
use in war. Thenceforward we find them 
used by the successors of Alexander, partic¬ 
ularly the Ptolemies and the Seleucidas. An¬ 
tipater introduced them into Greece, and 
Pyrrhus transported them into Italy. The 
elephants used by these princes were of the 
Asiatic race (Elephas Indicus of Cuvier), but 
the Cartliagenians and Numidians about the 
commencement of the Punic wars, began to 
make a similar use of the African elephant 
(Elephas Capensis of Cuvier), which differs 
from the other, by having less size, weight, 
and strength, but longer ears and tusks. 

What may be called the military qualifica¬ 
tions of the elephant, are his size, his strength, 
his docility, his power of swimming, and the 
toughness of his skin, which in most places 
was impenetrable to the weapons of ancient 
warfare. It must, however, be observed, that 
the strength of the elephant, though great, is 
not at all proportionate to his magnitude. 
The ordinary pictures of ancient battles, in 


h/ 


which elephants are represented bearing huge 
towers, crowded with armed men, are ludi¬ 
crous exaggerations ; the most that the animal 
could carry is a houdah with from four to six 
persons, and even this weight could not be 
sustained on a long march ; the lioudah was 
expressed by a Greek word which literally 
signifies “ a little cuiras,” but is sometimes 
used by military writers for the hurdles or 
wicker work employed in the construction of 
field-works. The passage of Silius Italicus, 
which has led to the exaggerated notion of 
these towers is merely descriptive of the ex- 














































































11G USE OF ELEPHANTS IN WAR. 


cessive alarm which would be excited in an 
army seeing such a spectacle for the first 
time :— 

« High on his back the soldiers saw, amazed, 

Embattled towers and threatening forts upraised ; 

The pinnacles, ascending to the clouds, 

Shake as he moves and threat to crush the crowds.” 

Punica, ix. 

This is just such an exaggeration as we 
find in the Hindoo poem translated by Wil¬ 
kins in the Asiatic researches: “ His elephants 
moved like walking mountains, and the earth, 
oppressed by their weight, crumbled into 
dust.” 

M. Armandi, in his work on “ The Military 
History of Elephants,” to which we are in¬ 
debted for much of the information contained 
in this article, justly remarks that elephants 
and war-chariots were used in ancient warfare 
for purposes analogous to parks of artillery in 
modern times. In the battle of the Hydas- 
pes, Porus employed his elephants to cover 
his centre and left wing, believing that his 
right was sufficiently protected by the river. 
According to Polyenus he committed the fatal 
error of placing his elephants so close together, 
that they prevented him from making any 
change in his lines; consequently, when Ge¬ 
nus charged through his right wing, and at¬ 
tacked his centre in flank and rear, the In¬ 
dians, kept back by the elephants in front, and 
pressed hard by Genus in the rear, became a 
helpless mass of confusion. Porus tried to 
remedy this disaster by ordering his elephants 
to charge the phalanx which formed the Ma¬ 
cedonian centre ; but the Greeks having room 
to manoeuvre, attacked each elephant with a 
separate detachment of light troops, Alexander 
having selected picked men, armed with sharp 
axes and crooked swords for the purpose, who 
were tausjht to aim at the trunks and throats 
of the elephants. The animals were finally 
driven back, and thus any new formation of 
the Indian lines was effectually prevented. 
In this instance, then, it may be said that these 
cumbrous animals caused the defeat of the In¬ 
dian army, by rendering its lines immoveable, 
after they had been once formed. 

Elephants being used as a covering force, 
were usually stationed in the front of the 
lines, the intervals between them being occu¬ 
pied by divisions of light troops, who had to 
pre vent the enemy from turning the elephants 
back upon their own ranks. Some leaders 
were so much afraid of the elephants being 
turned that they kept these animals in reserve, 
and only brought them up to turn the doubtful 
scale of victory. It was thus that Pyrrhus 
won the battle of Heraclea. The Roman cav¬ 
alry were cutting lanes through his columns 
when he brought up the elephants; the Latin 
horses were more frightened than their riders 


at the unusual sight, the squadrons fell back 
on the legions, and threw them into disorder, 
Pyrrhus seized the decisive moment to charge 
at the head of his Thessalian cavalry, “ and 
the red field was w^on.” 

A curious circumstance corroborates the 
assertion of Floras, that elephants were pre¬ 
viously unknown to the Romans; they called 
the animals “ Lucanian oxen,” the battle hav¬ 
ing been fought in Lucania, and this was the 
name usually given to the elephant by Latin 
writers, down to the Augustan age. The bat¬ 
tle of Asculum w^as remarkable lor two cir¬ 
cumstances, which have been omitted by 
nearly all the modern wuiters of Roman his¬ 
tory : the legionaries had so far recovered 
from their fear of elephants, that a centurion, 
named Minucius, attacked one of these beasts 
single-handed, and cut off a large portion of 
his trunk. The second incident is that the 
Romans borrowed war-chariots from the Gauls 
as a counterpoise to the elephants of Pyrrhus, 
but never used them except in this battle. 

Minucius was not the only hero who ven¬ 
tured singly against an elephant; a more no¬ 
ble instance of devoted heroism is recorded in 
the history of the Maccabees, at the battle of 
Bethzacharias : “ Eleazar, surnamed Savaran, 
perceiving that one of the beasts, armed w r ith 
royal harness, was higher than the rest, and 
supposing that the king was upon him, put 
himself in jeopardy, to the end he might de¬ 
liver his people, and get him a perpetual 
name; wherefore he ran upon him courage¬ 
ously through the midst of the battle, slay¬ 
ing on the right hand and on the left, so that 
they were divided from him on both sides, 
which done he crept under the elephant, and 
thrust him under, and slew him, whereupon the 
elephant fell down upon him, and there he 
died.”—1 Mac. vi., 43-46. On this narrative 
it may be remarked, that the words rendered 
“royal harness,” properly signifies “a royal 
houdali;” and that the thirty-two men said in 
a preceding verse to be united with the mahout 
in the charge of each elephant, include not 
only the warriors in the tower, but also the 
soldiers who had the charge of protecting the 
unwieldy animals from the skirmishers and 
light troops of the enemy. 

Pyrrhus was indebted to his elephants for 
his victory at Heraclea, but these same ani¬ 
mals caused his utter ruin in the battle of 
Beneventum. Curius Dentatus had trained 
a body of archers to shower burning arrows 
on these animals, which sticking in their 
flesh, burned through their thick skins, and 
drove them mad with pain. No animal is 
more ferociously destructive than an infuriated 
elephant; even in the domesticated state, they 
are known to be gratified with carnage, and 
hence they have been frequently employed as 













USE OF ELEPHANTS IN WAR. 


117 



SUTLER 



m 



fm 



mm 

ijUATf W[, 







mV if i vrZTL M.Ka—WSSm 

SIP 



gtj! 


KM 




&/jm 

i*. + 




Elephants destroying Captives taken in War. 


executioners by the despots of the East. 
One of the Epirote elephants, furious from 
pain, shook off his driver, and rushing back 
upon the phalanx which Pyrrhus had formed 
with closer ranks than usual, crushed and de¬ 
stroyed a great number of soldiers before any 
remedy could be found for such a disaster. 
On a previous occasion the delight of the ele¬ 
phant in carnage had been fearfully demon¬ 
strated ; before the body of Alexander was 
laid in the tomb, three hundred of his bravest 
companions were crushed to death by ele¬ 
phants, in the presence of the entire army, by 
command of the regent Perdiccas. Arrian 
says that this sickening massacre was ren¬ 
dered the more revolting by the trumpeting, 
roaring, and other signs of savage delight, 
which the animals exhibited while engaged in 
the work of slaughter. 

The military value of elephants was best 
tested in the second Punic war. Hannibal 
attached more importance to these animals 
than any cotemporary general, and he cer¬ 
tainly made a more skilful use of them than 
any great captain of antiquity. At the battle 
near the river Trebia, Hannibal charged and 
routed the Roman cavalry with his elephants; 


but the infantry stood firm against these ani¬ 
mals, and even drove them back on the Car- 
thagenian lines. We are told that the legion¬ 
aries were encouraged to this resistance by the 
example of Fibrenus. The incident is well 
told by Silius Italicus; and as this most pro¬ 
saic of historical poets is rarely read by 
English students, we shall venture to translate 
the passage:— 

“ Fresh horrors now are added to the fight, 

The fearful elephants appear in sight; 

They gain the bank, they rush into the stream, 

High o’er the wave their spear-fenced turrets gleam ; 
The Trebia trembles at the sudden shock, 

As if invaded by some monstrous rock, 

Which, torn by tempest from some mountain’s head, 
Choked up the stream, and drove it from its bed. 

But valor rises under adverse fate, 

And dangers still excite the truly great: 

Fibrenus, only anxious that his name 
Should live recorded in the rolls of fame, 

Shouts, * Thank thee, fortune !—underneath the wave, 
Thou didst not give me an unhonored grave ; 

My deeds are seen, and here on land I try 
What force the Roman falchion can defy, 

Or what the monster is that must not fear 
The Latin javelin and Tuscan spear.’ 

He spoke, and eager sought some tender part, 

Then at the monster hurled his rapid dart; 

Right to the eye the weapon held its way, 

Tore through the ball, and quenched the visual ray; 









































































118 


USE OF ELEPHANTS IN WAR 



Army on a March, with Elephants. 


The horrid heast sent forth a fearful roar, 

Which echoed wildly round the blood-stained shore. 
Then, blind with rage, and maddened by the pain, 
He threw his driver helpless on the plain, 

And fled amain. The Romans at the sight, 

Receive fresh courage, and renew the fight; 

They press the monster with incessant blows, 

From gaping wounds his blood in torrents flows; 
Arrows and darts are quivering in his hide, 

Till one wide gush extends along his side ; 

A bustling forest on his back appears, 

Of waving javelins and of deep-driven spears; 
Worn out at last, the dreadful monster reels, 

And seeks the river as his death he feels : 

He falls—the mighty ruin chokes the flood, 

And the clear stream runs crimson with his blood.” 

Punica, iv. 

According to Polybius, whose authority is 
incidentally confirmed by Juvenal, Hannibal 
lost all his elephants but one in this battle, and 
did not receive a fresh supply until after his 
victory at Cannae. Hanno joined him at 
Capua with forty elephants and four thousand 
Numidian cavalry, but this reinforcement did 
not enable Hannibal to pursue his career of 
conquest. He was defeated at Nola by Mar- 
cellus, with a loss of four elephants killed, 
and two taken; he met a similar loss at Gru- 
mentum; two of his elephants were killed in 
the unsuccessful attempt to relieve Capua, 
and five more were slain at the battle of Cam- 
isium. At the battle of the Metaurus the 
elephants were repulsed by the pikemen of 
the eleventh legion, four being slain on the 
spot, and the rest driven back on the Cartha- 
genian lines. 

But the most remarkable example which 
can be cited of the use of elephants during 
this period was presented at the battle of Za- 
ma, where Hannibal covered his line with no 
less than eighty of those animals. Scipio im¬ 
mediately changed the usual order of Roman 
lines ; he left wide spaces like lanes between 


the manipuli of the legions, masking this ar¬ 
rangement by throwing forward a cloud of 
skirmishers and light troops, principally Nu¬ 
midian cavalry furnished to them by Mas- 
sinissa. Hannibal, annoyed by the skirmish¬ 
ers, ordered his elephants to charge the Ro¬ 
man lines in a body, and the skirmishers re¬ 
treated through the lanes or passages left 
open by the formation of the legionaries. The 
elephants pursued, and the moment one of 
those animals was engaged in one of the pas¬ 
sages his doom was sealed ; on either side 
were the pike-men, whose serried weapons 
could not be beaten down, while the light troops 
attacked the animals with spears, javelins, 
crooked swords, and battle-axes. The chief 
danger arose from the cavalry; the Italian 
horses could not be got to face the elephants. 
Scipio, however, promptly set the example 
of dismounting, and after a fierce struggle the 
elephants were all hors de combat. Eleven 
of these animals were taken alive by the Ro¬ 
mans ; all the rest fell in action. 

This battle taught the Romans the advan¬ 
tage of an open formation of the lines in a 
contest with elephants, and in some degree 
proved the inutility of these animals when 
sent against disciplined troops. Thencefor¬ 
ward the use of these animals in war de¬ 
clined, and they are mentioned for the last 
time in the military history of Rome at the 
battle of Thapsus, where Julius Czesar over¬ 
threw the last army of the republic and its 
African auxiliaries. All the accounts of this 
battle which we possess are so imperfect, 
that it is not easy to determine how Juba em¬ 
ployed his elephants; but that the victory 
over them was deemed very important is man¬ 
ifest from the frequent appearance of the ele¬ 
phant on the coins and medals of the J ulian 
I family. 






































ASTRONOMY. 


The neglect of elephants in the western 
world after the battle of Thapsus became an 
established principle ; both Livy and Arrian 
speak of them as utterly contemptible for the 
purposes of war; but in the east the use of 
them was revived by the princes of the house 
of Sassan, and they were employed in the 
wars of India so late as 1779 ; Hyder Ali 
having sent his elephants to charge the dis¬ 
ordered lines of the unfortunate Baillie. In 
the eastern wars, not less than in those of the 
west, elephants have proved an uncertain and 
dangerous support; thus when the Portuguese 
were attacked at Colombo in 1520, the ele¬ 
phants sent against them by the Cingalese, 
daunted by the fire of the harquebusses and 
maddened by wounds, turned back upon their 
own lines, and crushed to death whole troops 
of unfortunate islanders. Some of the em¬ 
perors of Delhi mounted light guns on the 
backs of elephants, but the slow movements 
of the animals prevented this kind of artillery 
from being generally adopted. In our day, 
elephants are chiefly used for the transport of 
ordnance and heavy stores; and many are of 
opinion that even for this purpose they are in¬ 
ferior in value to horses. 


LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY—N°. 2. 

BY PROFESSOR O. M. MITCHELL. 

I have stated in the preceding lecture the fact 
that the science of astronomy has furnished 
to the human intellect the wildest and noblest 
field for its efforts. I propose to direct your 
attention, in this lecture, to specific objects. 
Follow me, then, if you please, through the 
history of the developments of discoveries 
made with reference to our nearest neighbor— 
the moon. 

The early history of science we know is 
lost. We may trace back the record of its 
movements until we see that there was a sci¬ 
ence of astronomy anterior to the earliest date 
which history can reach. We may then take 
up tradition—stepping still further back—and 
there again we stop and ponder upon the fact 
that there was a science of astronomy anterior 
even to tradition. Thus we are lost in the 
obscurity of past time, and, having nothing 
more to guide us upon which we can rely, we 
must resort to speculation. But let it be re¬ 
membered that this speculation is of such a 
character that it is absolute certainty, and, if 
it be properly conducted, it will lead us to re¬ 
sults entirely reliable. I shall be obliged, 
then, to begin with speculation. 

In turning the eye to the heavens, the 



119 


strong probability is that the very first astro¬ 
nomical observations made upon any moving 
body were those made upon the moon. This 
attracted the wondering gaze of every eye— 
its curious and extraordinary changes, and the 
rapidity of its movements, were so different 
from those of any other heavenly body. 
While the sun was ever bright and round— 
while the other planets always shone with a 
serene and steady light—while the fixed stars 
shed forth the same unvarying degree of splen¬ 
dor year after year, it was found that the 
moon was constantly changing. On one eve¬ 
ning it was observed to be the slender silver 
crescent, close beside the sun : it was watched 
from night to night, receding from a line with 
the sun, and increasing in brilliancy, till, 
finally, it was found to rise in the east, in full 
orb, while the sun was sinking in the west. 
Then, as the nights rolled on, the light was 
discovered to decrease, until, when it again 
came round in conjunction with the sun, it 
had entirely disappeared. These changes 
were doubtlessly the first observed. 

But there was another point which early 
attracted the attention of man. When the 
grouping of the stars in the heavens had first 
been made—when it was seen that they held 
invariable relative positions to each other, the 
next point was to watch and see if the moon 
held its place among the stars. Here arose a 
most wonderful discovery. The moon did 
not hold its place among them. What did it 
do? It was found, in the next place, to be 
moving contrary to the motion of all the 
heavenly bodies, which appeared to make 
regular diurnal rotations. The moon was 
heaving upward, while .at the same time it 
had a general diurnal motion. Here was the 
first discovery ever made with regard to the 
movements of the heavenly bodies. 

For a long time it must have been a matter 
of perplexity whether this motion of the 
moon was real, or was occasioned by the fact 
that the whole sidereal heavens were sweep¬ 
ing past the moon. How is it possible to de¬ 
termine this question ? If they had only this 
object to examine and no other moving bodies 
were found, then would it have been impos¬ 
sible to have settled the question whether this 
motion actually belonged to this object alone, 
or whether the whole sphere of stars wheeled 
round more rapidly than the moon. 

But after a little while they found that the 
sun in like manner partook of a similar motion. 
They watched the setting sun. How many 
of us have done the same thing, for the like 
purpose ? They saw certain bright stars first 
making their appearance, apparently near the 
sun, as it sunk to rest. Night after night they 
watched, and found to their astonishment that 
these broad groups of stars were coming down- 










ASTRONOMY. 


120 


■ward to meet tlie sun, and at every successive 
day they were nearer and nearer that lumin¬ 
ary. The sun is heaving upward, said they, 
to meet the stars, as they are sinking down 
under the horizon; and inasmuch as this phe¬ 
nomenon did not differ from that of the moon, 
it settled the question at once and for ever, 
that this motion of the moon and the sun was 
really in no sense belonging to the heavenly 
bodies among which they appeared to be lo¬ 
cated. Here, then, was a second grand dis¬ 
covery—the movement of the sun. 

But as they continued these examinations 
they had occasion to refer the sun to a very 
brilliant beautiful star, that was found to be 
visible to them after the sun’s setting. This 
was regarded as a fixed star among the rest; 
but, by continuous examination, it was found 
this star was moving downward to meet the 
sun. It did not hold its place among the rest. 
What could be the meaning of this ? He 
who first fixed his eye comprehendingly upon 
this object, how intense must have been his 
emotions ! What is this, hitherto regarded as 
a fixed star ? He watches it till finally it is 
lost in the splendor of the sun. What now ? 
It has been found that all the bright stars 
among which the sun appears, move upward 
in the east in the morning just before the sun 
rises. Might it not be that this star will pass 
by the sun and make its appearance in like 
manner? We can imagine this individual, 
morning after morning, with his gaze fixed on 
the eastern sky, watching the reappearance 
of his lost star. At length it is found: there 
it is, on the other side of the sun! 

Here, then, is the first discovery ever made 
of a planet by the human eye. Who dis¬ 
covered it ? Alas ! his name—his country, is 
for ever lost. But we know this to have been 
the process. Having found one of these 
moving bodies, it was not difficult to find 
others. But it is unnecessary to go into an 
explanation of the manner in which other 
planets were discovered, and I will revert to 
the moon. Up to this time no explanations 
of the changes of the moon were divined—it 
was impossible to divine them. 

Another phenomenon, more wonderful, more 
terrific than all, now came to impress itself 
upon the mind and awake its energies : it was 
the exhibition of a solar eclipse. No eye, 
even at this day, has ever gazed upon this 
startling scene without experiencing a sense 
of awe or fear. The idea that the great 
source of light is waning—is dying—is passing 
away from the heavens, always chills the 
blood and fills the mind with terror. What, 
then, must have been the effect produced upon 
the minds of the early inhabitants of the 
earth by this phenomenon—while the causes 
which produced it were unknown, and it was 


impossible to predict its coming—when, at 
the noon of a gorgeous and sunny day, it pre¬ 
sented itself to their astonished gaze ? Surely, 
we may imagine that, after such a startling 
phenomenon, the most powerful intellects 
were consecrated to the investigation of this 
mystery. 

Now, I shall venture to attempt an explana¬ 
tion to go far enough to show to you how it 
was that the first eclipse was predicted, so 
that you yourselves can, with the eye alone, 
make the requisite observations and attain suf¬ 
ficient knowledge to be able yourselves to 
predict the coming of such an event. This 
may seem very difficult—and it is marvellous, 
even now, with all the aid of astronomical 
tables, and all the knowledge we have derived 
from the storied past. How it could have 
been done thousands of years ago, when the 
true knowledge of our system did not exist, is 
most remarkable and entirely inexplicable. 
Let us examine into this matter. 

In the first place, the attentive eye marked 
the fact that when an eclipse of the sun oc¬ 
curred, no moon was visible. This was a 
very important point; and, aroused by the 
discovery of this fact, they watched the 
movements of the moon and marked its posi¬ 
tion before the coming eclipse. The next 
night after the eclipse they found the moon 
close to the sun—a silver crescent, actually 
located in such a manner that if it pursued its 
wonted orbit it must have passed very near 
the sun at the very time the eclipse took 
place. The moon was last seen on this side 
—immediately after the obscuration it occu¬ 
pied the other side. They joined these two 
points, and by the rate of motion of the moon 
calculated how long it took for the moon to 
come up to a junction with the sun, and it 
was found to be just such as to allow the moon 
to come in conjunction with the sun at the 
very time of the eclipse. Hence they reached 
the conclusion that the moon was passing be¬ 
tween the eye of the observer and the sun, 
and in that manner the light of the sun had 
been intercepted. Here was an explanation 
of the extraordinary phenomenon of a solar 
eclipse. 

But how was it possible for them to calcu¬ 
late the return of an eclipse ? This will re¬ 
quire more attention. I beg you to remember 
that we have no history going back sufficiently 
far to record this wonderful discovery—even 
tradition knows nothing of it. We must then 
go back in imagination, and speculate con¬ 
cerning it. 

First, then, it was remarked that the track 
pursued by the sun and the moon among the 
fixed stars was circular. Now if it were 
possible for me to mark out the track of the 
sun in the heavens—if it would, for our ac- 











ASTRONOMY. 


commodation, leave a broad belt equal in 
breadth to its diameter—if the moon in like 
manner should leave the mark of its track, 
these two bolts would not coincide, but would 
cross each other in two opposite points.— 
These are what are called the nodes. You 
will understand what follows without diffi¬ 
culty. Now, in order that it should be possi¬ 
ble that the eclipse should take place, you 
will readily perceive that it was necessary, 
not only that the moon should be in conjunc¬ 
tion with the sun, but it must actually cross 
the track of the sun when in conjunction, in 
order to make an eclipse. The moon must 
be in one of these nodes or an eclipse can not 
take place. 

But again, it has been already observed that 
an eclipse can not occur except at new moon. 
Combine these two facts. If it should so hap¬ 
pen that the new moon should come in just at 
the instant it was crossing under the disk of 
the sun, then would the moon interpose itself 
between the eye and the sun and an eclipse 
would necessarily occur. 

Now then, to find out that period: let us 
go, in imagination if you please, to the top of 
some mountain peak, where the first astron¬ 
omer—immured from the world—carries on 
his nightly observation. He has reached to 
the knowledge of the fact that there will be 
an eclipse of the sun if the new moon occur 
at the time she is in her node. He already 
knows the time for the new moon to come in, 
which is fixed and certain. He believes he 
can compute the time when the next node 
will come round, and to do it he seizes the aid 
of the moon to-night. He runs onward till 
he finds when the new moon will appear, and 
discovers that when it comes round it is not 
in the act of crossing the sun’s path. He 
runs round another cycle and finds again that 
it is not on the sun’s track. He extends his 
investigations still farther from one lunation 
to another—he finds that the new moon ap¬ 
proaching nearer and nearer to the desired 
place, till finally it comes exactly to this 
point. The computation is marked. “There,” 
he says, “when that day arrives, I announce 
to the inhabitants of the world that the sun 
shall lose its light.” 

With what anxiety he must have watched 
the coming of that day ! How slowly did 
the revolving moons pass by! At last the 
day arrives—he retires to his rocky summit, 
there to await the test of his triumph or his 
defeat. The sun rises, bright and beautiful 
—it mounts the heavens, and scatters glory 
in its path. While the mortal world below 
are engaged in the avocations of business and 
the pursuits of pleasure, he is watching with 
intense anxiety to know what the result will 
be. But in the very noon of the day his tri¬ 


121 


umph arrives. The sun begins to fade—it 
wanes—it dies! The terror-stricken millions 
below cry with agony; while this lone man, 
on his bleak and barren watch-tower, with 
out-stretched arm offers his thanks to the God 
of the universe who has crowned his efforts 
with success. 

But, alas, for human fame! Surely that 
individual might have hoped to believe that 
he who had first predicted the coming of an 
eclipse, who had removed the causes of ter¬ 
ror which this phenomenon had spread among 
the inhabitants of earth, should have his name 
engraved upon the tablet of Fame “ with a 
pen of iron and the point of a diamond.” Yet 
his name, his nation, is lost for ever! No his¬ 
tory reaches so far back—no tradition can ex¬ 
tend to the point of time when he lived, or 
where. 

Now, bv a most remarkable and wonderful 
arrangement of the lunations, on the return 
of the new moon it is found that, after we 
have predicted one eclipse, if we go on and 
record each successive eclipse for the period 
of between 18 and 19 years, at the end of the 
cycle of 223 years they will have run round 
what might be called an orbit, and again oc¬ 
cur on the same days. Hence, after they had 
recorded eclipses for one such cycle, there 
was no difficulty in predicting an eclipse at 
any future time. The coincidence, however, 
is not exact. For, if an eclipse occurred on 
the 19th of March, 3,000 years ago, the suc¬ 
cession of the cycle may in the course of time 
wear gradually around and disappear; but 
many years must roll away before, on the re¬ 
currence of the cycle, an eclipse will not take 
place. 

As soon as it was possible to understand 
the cause of the eclipse of the sun, the human 
mind was directed to the investigation of the 
cause producing an eclipse of the moon. This 
was far more difficult, and for this reason :— 
In the eclipse of the sun they had watched 
the coming up of the moon to the sun, its 
passage across the sun’s disk, believing with¬ 
out question that the eclipse was caused by 
its interposition between them and the sun, 
and that it occurred only at new moon. But 
what was to interpose itself between the be¬ 
holder and the full moon ? There seemed to 
be nothing in the heavens. Upon reflection, 
the human mind bethought itself that every 
body which revolves in the light of another 
luminous body, will cast a shadow beyond in 
a right line with the light itself. Now if the 
earth is opaque, it might intercept the light 
thrown upon it from the sun, casting a shadow 
toward the horizon, and might it not be pro¬ 
jected far enough to reach the moon itself, so 
that the moon in passing into the shadow, 
having no light of its own, would be obscured ? 









ASTRONOMY. 


122 


Here is an explanation of the cause of the 
lunar eclipse, revealing to the early astron¬ 
omers the fact that the moon was not self- 
luminious. 

The explanation of the phases of the moon 
is easy. If it be a globe, or sphere, and only 
brilliant in consequence of the reflection of the 
light from the sun, it became necessary that 
the illumination should always be at the time 
when the moon and the sun were in contrary 
positions relative to the earth. When the 
sun was setting and the moon was compara¬ 
tively near the sun, and, of course, between 
the observer and the sun, it was impossible 
to see the whole illuminated surface of the 
moon, and indeed sometimes almost none at 
all. But as the moon gradually receded from 
the sun, night after night, after a time it came 
to occupy an easterly position, when the light 
of the sun falling upon its surface was thrown 
back at a very acute angle upon the eye of 
the observer, and the full moon was present¬ 
ed. These changes were going on from luna¬ 
tion to lunation, and, once observed, were 
easily comprehended. 

While the moon thus revealed to them the 
causes of the eclipse of the sun, and the reason 
of its own phases, it also revealed to the early 
astronomers the figure of our earth. How did 
this occur ? It was found, when the moon 
passed into the shadow of the earth, that the 
line cut out on the disk of the moon by the 
shadow was an arc of a circle, and as it pass¬ 
ed further and further on, even to the entire 
obscuration of the moon, it still appeared in 
a form nearer a complete circle. Now it was 
impossible that any other than a globular figure 
should cast such a shadow upon the surface of 
the moon. The moon, then, first revealed the 
figure of the earth upon which we live ; and, 
strange to tell, that same moon, in our own 
day, has given us a more perfect knowledge 
of the figure of the earth than can be derived 
from any measurements with the most ac¬ 
curate instruments we yet possess.—This 
matter I shall undertake to explain hereafter. 

We find, on running back to past history, 
that observations were made upon the moon, 
at Babylon, 2,250 years before the Christian 
era. And these observations, upon the taking 
of that city by Alexander, were said to have 
been presented to Aristotle. The truth of 
this we can not know ; but one thing we do 
know—that on the 19th of March, 2,567 years 
ago, there was an eclipse of the sun observed 
and recorded in the tower erected in that 
mighty city: on the 8th of March in the fol¬ 
lowing year there was another; and on the 
4th of September in the next year there was 
another. And we know and understand the 
peculiarities belonging to these antique obser¬ 
vations. 


These are, perhaps, among the earliest ob¬ 
servations—-and of such importance are they 
in linking the past with the present, that but 
for them we would at this time be compara¬ 
tively ignorant of the movements of that 
wondrous orb which does more for the civil¬ 
ization of the world than any other one thing 
of which we have a knowledge. I pronounce 
this to be true without hesitation. If it were 
possible, now, to trace with perfect precision 
the exact position of the moon, we should ac¬ 
complish more for commerce, for science, for 
civilization, than could be done in any other 
way. Why ? Because then the tempest- 
tossed mariner upon any ocean—over whom 
days and weeks had passed without his see¬ 
ing the sun or stars—the moment this silver 
orb made its appearance again in the heavens, 
would be able with perfect confidence to ex¬ 
claim : “I know exactly in what part of the 
globe I am situated; the smallest observation 
gives me my latitude, and the position of the 
moon my longitude.” Hence, I say, it is of 
the utmost consequence that we should have 
these old observations; for by linking them 
with those now making, we are able to ap¬ 
proximate to the accomplishment of this grand 
design more fully. 

But as we come down through the tide of 
time, we find a particular theory adopted with 
regard to the whole system with which we 
are united—the old Greek theory, to which I 
will just advert. It located the earth in the 
centre, and made the moon the nearest object, 
and the sun next. Now it happened, curious¬ 
ly enough, that there was one truth in the 
theory: the moon did revolve about the earth. 

When Copernicus presented his theory, and 
transferred the fixed centre to the sun, causing 
the planets to take proper positions, rescuing 
the earth from its false position and sending it 
revolving round the sun, the question was, 
what is to be done with the moon ? There 
seemed to be a difficulty here. The query 
was : is the moon a planet like the rest ? 
Perhaps many of my audience have not 
thought of this. How many of us have ask¬ 
ed the question—“How do we know that the 
moon revolves ?” Because the books tell us 
so? We are generally in the habit of re¬ 
ceiving facts in that way. I do not remem¬ 
ber ever to have seen an explanation of this 
in any book. But Copernicus reasoned in 
this way. Said he: I do not believe the 
moon revolves in an orbit interior to the earth’s, 
because I find that evinces a miracle; the moon 
in that case should never leave the sun but to 
a limited distance. Now the moon does leave 
the sun, and moves off till it is directly oppo¬ 
site, and then comes around again up to the 
sun. I therefore say it does not revolve in¬ 
terior to the earth’s orbit. In the next place, 









ASTRONOMY. 


it does not revolve exterior to the earth’s orbit; 
for I find the motion of all the planets exterior 
to the earth, at certain points of their career 
becomes slow—it is arrested—they stop— 
retrograde—they stop again, and then take 
up their onward motion. Now I understand 
why it is that we, being on the surface of a 
circular globe must have these changes ex¬ 
hibited to us. But the moon never stops 
and retrogrades—it is ever moving onward, 
and therefore is not exterior to the orbit of the 
earth. 

Here was a further absolute demonstration. 
It could not be either interior or exterior— 
therefore it was no planet at all. Now the 
phenomena exhibited by the moon were per¬ 
fectly accounted for. If—upon the hypothe¬ 
sis that you make the earth its centre—it re¬ 
volves about the earth, it is our satellite, ever 
accompanying us in all our movements. 

But we come down still further in the his¬ 
tory of our neighbor. When Kepler discov¬ 
ered the two laws of planetary movements— 
that they revolved in orbits not exactly cir¬ 
cular, but a little elongated—elliptical as they 
are called; when, in like manner, he had 
discovered, by tracing them up, that a line 
drawn from the sun to any of the planets al¬ 
ways swept over equal areas of space in equal 
times—and when, at the end of seventeen long 
years of toil, he had also discovered his last 
great law, which linked all these isolated 
planets into one grand unit, making the sun 
always the centre, it seemed that nothing more 
remained to be done. But immediately the 
question arose: what holds these mighty 
globes steady ? What power reaches out to 
them and prevents them from breaking from 
their orbits and wandering away into the 
blackness of darkness ? The resolution of 
this problem was reserved for the immortal 
Newton. Kepler himself gathered some faint 
glimmerings of the great cause—that there 
was a power of attraction existing in bodies, 
mutually operating upon each other; but he 
did not attain to the demonstration of this fact. 
This was reserved for that great man to whom 
we owe our knowledge of the laws of attrac¬ 
tion. 

Here, if you will allow me, I will attempt 
to explain the manner in which Newton con¬ 
ducted the argument which led him to the 
grand result. I am confident that although 
there are many here who have given com¬ 
paratively little attention to astronomical sci¬ 
ence, they will be able to follow me readily 
in this explanation. Newton began where 
Kepler left off. The latter announced that 
bodies were attracted to each other, and by a 
force which he believed decreased according 
to a certain fixed law : and it was to prove 
this that Newton made his investigations. 


123 


In the first place, he announced this as a law, 
according to his belief: that everybody at¬ 
tracts every other body by a force which 
varies inversely as the square of the distance. 
If a body be located at a distance one, the 
force of its attraction we will call one. Now 
remove this body as far again to a distance 
two , and the attractive power will be one 
fourth —at a distance three , one ninth , and at 
a distance four , one sixteenth ; and you can 
carry out the law to any distance. 

Now, to prove the truth of this law was the 
question. In the first place, it is manifest 
that, whatever be the law of attraction, it will 
be clearly and positively determined bv the 
amount of velocity it is capable of impressing 
upon a falling body. This is intelligible to 
all. If from this point I let fall any object 
toward the earth’s surface, under the influ¬ 
ence of the force of attraction suppose it fell 
sixteen feet in the first second of time—this 
sixteen feet will measure the force of attrac¬ 
tion at the earth’s surface. If it were possi¬ 
ble to go 4,000 miles high, and from that 
point, as remote from the surface of the earth 
as my first station at the surface was distant 
from the centre, and then drop a body, meas¬ 
ure the space through which it falls, and find 
it to be one fourth of sixteen feet in a second, 
this would be proof that the law was true. 
But suppose I rise still higher, 12,000 miles 
above the centre of the earth, and there find 
the space through which this body falls is a 
ninth part of sixteen feet in a second—here is 
another confirmation of the law. And if, as 
I increase my distance every time by the 
radius of the earth’s circumference, I find the 
same law holds true, I pronounce, without 
hesitation, that this is the law of attraction. 

But I can not rise in this way, to a distance 
of twelve, eight, or four thousand miles. Yet 
may I not carry my observations to a certain 
height? Yes; but to such a comparatively 
small distance that the difference will be in¬ 
appreciable. Alas, for the person who under¬ 
takes the experiment! such is the minute 
difference, even when he has attained the 
greatest height ever attained by man, it can 
not be appreciated. 

What then was to be done ? No one could 
ascend above the earth to perform these ex¬ 
periments. But the mighty intellect of New¬ 
ton stretched still further, and our old friend, 
the moon, was brought in to play the part of 
this falling body! What! do you ask—is 
the moon falling toward the earth, and does 
Newton seize it and stop it, and then com¬ 
pute with what velocity it should come tow¬ 
ard its central planet ? No: This is not pos¬ 
sible. But, let me explain. Here is the 
moon:—now let us start with the moon when 
it was first projected in its orbit. Under the 











THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. 


124 


action of the impulsive force it would have 
moved off in a straight line, with a certain 
determined velocity, which we can measure. 
If this impulse had not been given to it, and 
it had been left free in space, it would have 
dropped toward the centre of the earth with 
a certain velocity, which we can also measure. 
Now, under the action of these two forces, it 
does not obey either of them, but takes a di¬ 
rection intermediate between the two, and 
swings in a curve about the earth. And here 
is the stated point: if, under the action of an 
impulsive force, it would in a second of time 
reach that point in a straight line, under the 
attraction of the earth it is drawn down, and 
the amount by which it is drawn down is the 
amount through which it falls during that 
second of time. 

One more grand point is to be accomplish¬ 
ed, and we are through. First: inasmuch as 
the moon is falling, it is necessary to note how 
much it falls. That is easily measured : all 
we have to do is to remark the amount of 
declension from a straight line which it would 
have pursued in a second of time. A straight 
line is easily measured, and gives the value 
of the distance through which a body located 
at the moon will fall toward the earth in one 
second. 

Now the grand point is whether that 
distance is what it ought to fall, under the 
hypothesis of the law of gravitation. When 
Newton undertook this investigation he was 
not provided with accurate data. It was easy 
to compute how far a body should fall in a 
second of time—every person can do that. 
Only follow this law, beginning with 16 feet 
a second at a surface of the earth, or at the 
length of the earth’s radius. Just square the 
distance, which will be successively 2, 4, 9, 
16, and so on, till at the distance of the moon, 
or 60 times the length of the earth’s radius, 
it will be 3,600. Since this computation was 
so easy, all that was necessary was to measure 
the space through which the moon did fall, 
and if they were equal, then of course the 
demonstration was made. 

Yet, alas for the toil of the philosopher! 
His data were incorrect, and for seventeen 
years did he goad his mind to the subject, 
toiling day and night to make this coincidence 
perfect, but it would not agree ; so he threw 
liis laborious computations away in despair. 

But, in attending a meeting of the Royal 
society in London, lie happened to catch the 
sound of the voice of an individual who was 
talking about a recent measurement of the cir¬ 
cumference of the earth. That was the prin¬ 
cipal element entering into the computation. 
The new measurement differed from the old. 
Here, thought he, may be the source of my 
error. He takes down his old computations, 


and substitutes the new measurement of the 
diameter of our globe, which makes a differ¬ 
ence in the proportional distance to the moon. 
The result he anticipates is coming out. But 
his nervous system sinks beneath the intense 
excitement—he yielded up the computation 
to a friend, for he could not make it himself. 
The coincidence was perfect—the grand dem¬ 
onstration was made—the law of gravitation 
was proved. At last he had grasped the key 
to the mysteries of the universe, and held it 
with a giant hand. 


THE GUARDIAN ANGEL, 

“ Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones ; 
for I say unto you, that in heaven their angels do always 
behold the face of my Father which is in heaven.*’ 

St. Matthew, xviii. 10. 

The engraving opposite shows the Guardi¬ 
an Angel guiding the footsteps of the trustful 
child. Grimeaux, the painter, has taken for 
his subject the two beautiful passages in the 
ninety-first psalm:— 

“ For lie shall give his angels charge over thee, to 
keep thee in all thy ways; 

“ They shall bear thee up in their hands lest thou 
dash thy foot against a stone.” 

The old masters, who, like the German ar¬ 
tists of the present day, drew their best in¬ 
spirations from the Scriptures, never perhaps, 
embodied a more beautiful idea than that of 
the Guardian Angel. A little Germanesque 
it might be, but what really great effort is un¬ 
tinged by nationality ? The picture, taken 
as a whole, is a fine moral poem, and full of 
meaning in every line. The dangers of life 
are typified by the dark sea which lies on 
each side of the narrow neck of land down 
which the child is being guided by the Angel. 
The brink of the precipice on either hand is 
hidden by flowers, which represent the delu¬ 
sive pleasures of the world. The angel, from 
behind, like a mother waiting upon the trem¬ 
bling feet of an infant, with careful palms, 
watches, lest he should swerve from the nar¬ 
row path. She does not touch him—to his 
own free will his footsteps are left, until his 
inherent helplessness calls forth the gentle 
guidance of her hands. Her white wings 
curve around as though doubly to assure the 
child, for does it not say in the psalm— 

“ He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under 
his wings shalt thou trust” ? 

The face of the angel is very fine. Anni- 
bal Caracci, whose angels, “ with hair blown 
back,” reach the highest point of spiritual 














The Guardian Angel. 








































































































































































126 DIAMONDS. 


feeling, never painted a more beautiful one. 
But description is dull when employed upon 
such a picture ; we have been vainly attempt¬ 
ing to paint with the pen, what the reader 
can understand at one glance by looking at 
the engraving. Both in idea and in execu¬ 
tion it is a work of high art—of an art which 
addresses itself to the breadth and depth of 
human feeling rather than to the narrow edge 
of conventionalism, however refined. 


DIAMONDS. 

Tiie diamond is a mineral body of great 
value and hardness, first discovered in Asia. 
The primitive form of this precious stone is 
the regular octoedron, each triangular facet 
of which is sometimes replaced by six secon¬ 
dary triangles, bounded by curved lines; so 
that the crystal becomes spheroidal, and then 
presents forty-eight small facets. These two 
peculiar characteristics of the diamond are 
exhibited in the subjoined figures. 


Many stones when rubbed exhibit very 
distinct electrical effects, and they will attract 
or repel light bodies which are brought into 
their neighborhood. The diamond, when ex¬ 
cited, exhibits positive electricity; whereas, 
the other precious stones, if rough, afford 
negative electricity. In general, however, it 
does not retain this electricity for any consid¬ 
erable length of time. 

Diamonds become phosphorescent, when 
exposed to the rays of the sun. Many of 
them, however, do not possess this property, 
although agreeing, in color, form, and trans¬ 
parency, with those which readily become 
luminous. The continuance of the phospho¬ 
rescence varies from five or six seconds to a 
full hour, and this even when the stone has 
not been exposed more than a few seconds to 
the rays of the sun. It is phosphorescent 
under water, as well as in the air. The dia¬ 
mond, when exposed to the blue rays of the 
prism, becomes phosphorescent; but when 
exposed to the red rays is not so. The spark 
from a charged jar produces the same effect as 


exposure to the sun’s rays. Exposure to the 
light of a wax-candle also produces phospho¬ 
rescence. 

Diamonds are found chiefly in the king¬ 
doms of Golconda, Yisapour, Bengal, the isl¬ 
and of Borneo, and Brazil. The mines are 
generally adjacent to rocky hills and mount¬ 
ains, and sometimes the diamonds are found 
scattered in the earth, within two or three 
fathoms of the surface. In other places, the 
miners dig through rocks to the depth of for¬ 
ty or fifty fathoms, till they come to a sort of 
mineral earth in which they find the diamonds 
enclosed. This 'earth is sometimes of a yel¬ 
lowish, and sometimes of a reddish color, and 
adheres to the stone so strongly, that it is dif¬ 
ficult to get it off. A sufficient quantity of 
this earth being dug out of the mine, it is 
thrown into a cistern of water, where, having 
soaked for some time, it is stirred about till 
the clods are broken, and the gravelly mat¬ 
ter sinks to the bottom. After this a vent is 
opened, and the cistern supplied with clean 
water, till all the earthy substance is washed 
away, and nothing but gravel remains. What 
thus settles at the bottom is spread to dry in 
the sun, then sifted, and afterward carefully 
searched with the hands to find out the dia¬ 
monds, at which the workmen are so expert, 
that the most minute bit of a stone can hardly 
escape them. It sometimes happens, how¬ 
ever, that the earth is so fixed about the dia¬ 
monds, that, before they are rubbed on a 
rough stone with sand, their transparency can 
not be discovered. 

In the kingdom of Golconda, or in that of 
Yisapour according to some maps, are the 
mines of Raolconda, which have been discov¬ 
ered above two hundred years. The earth 
here is sandy, and full of rocks; and in these 
rocks are found several little veins, half an 
inch or an inch broad, out of which the mi¬ 
ners, with hooked irons, draw the sand or 
earth that contains the diamonds, breaking 
the rock when the vein terminates, that the 
track may be easily found again and continu¬ 
ed. To separate the diamonds from this 
earth, it undergoes several washings and oth¬ 
er operations, as we have already observed. 
The miners are obliged to work almost naked, 
and have likewise inspectors to prevent their 
concealing the diamonds ; which yet, notwith¬ 
standing all this care, they sometimes find 
opportunities of doing. Tavernier says, he 
saw one detected who had put a small stone 
into the comer of his eye ; but swallowing a 
diamond is a surer and more usual method 
among them. If the miners meet with a 
stone of fifteen or sixteen carats, they are al¬ 
lowed a reward, besides their usual pay, 
which is very little. The king has two per 
cent, for all the diamonds that are sold ; and 























DIAMONDS. 


127 


also a duty from the merchants, according to 
the number of hands employed in digging. 

There are other mines at Gani, or Coulour, 
in the kingdom of Golconda, where they find 
diamonds from ten to forty carets and upward ; 
but these are not very clear, their water be¬ 
ing usually tinged with the color of the soil, 
which in some places is yellowish, in others 
black and moist, and in others reddish. An¬ 
other defect of some consequence, is a kind of 
greasiness appearing on the diamond when 
cut, which takes off part of its lustre. Here 
the miners usually dig to the depth of twelve 
feet, or till they find water, which prevents 
their going further. The earth is carried 
from the mine by women and children into a 
neighboring enclosure, where it is washed, 
and then dried and sifted. According to Ta- 
vernier, there are generally sixty thousand 
persons (men, women, and children) employ¬ 
ed in the mines of Coulour; they work al¬ 
most naked like the miners of Raolconda, 
and are watched in the same manner by in¬ 
spectors. 

A great number of diamonds are found 
near Soumelpour, a large town in Bengal, sit¬ 
uated on the river Goual. From this river, 
all our fine diamond-points, or sparks, called 
natural sparks, are brought, where they 
search for them after the great rains are over 
—that is, after the month of December. At 
that season, when the water is clear, eight or 
ten thousand persons, of all ages, come out 
of Soumelpour and the neighboring villages, 
and examine the sand of the river, going up 
it to the very mountain whence it springs. 
After this examination, they proceed to take 
up the sand wherein they judge diamonds are 
likely to be found; and this is performed in 
the following manner : Having made a dam 
round the place with earth, stones, fascines, 
&c., the river being then very low, they lade 
out the water, and dig about two feet deep, 
carrying the sand into a place walled round 
on the bank of the river, where the process 
is much the same as at the mines abovemen- 
tioned, and the workmen are watched with 
equal strictness. As to the diamonds of the 
island of Borneo, they are found in the sand 
of the river Succadan, or Succadano, and 
perhaps in some other parts of the island, 
with which we are little acquainted. 

The provinces in Brazil, known to possess 
diamonds, are Minas Geraes, Minas Novas, 
Goyaz, and Matto Grosso; but it is supposed 
that several of the other provinces are fur¬ 
nished with these highly-prized gems. The 
diamonds found in Minas Geraes are general¬ 
ly the largest, but they are not of the purest 
water. The most celebrated diamond mines 
inBrazil are those of Serrado Frio, which are 
also known by the name of the Arrayal Dia- 


mantino, or diamond district, properly so call¬ 
ed. These mines were not actually discov¬ 
ered until the government of Dom. Lorenco 
d’Almeida, although the diamonds were known 
to have been in the possession of the negroes, 
who met with them accidentally while em¬ 
ployed in gold-washing, and other persons ig¬ 
norant of their value, long before that period. 
They were first taken from Brazil to Lisbon 
in 1728, by Bernardo da Silva Lobo. He 
showed them to the Dutch resident consul, 
who recognised them as diamonds, and in¬ 
formed him of his important discovery. This 
district is surrounded by almost inaccessible 
rocks, and was formerly guarded with so 
.much vigilance that not even the governor of 
the province had the liberty of entering it 
without the special permission of the director 
of the mines. 

The mines are wrought by accumulating 
the cascalhao, a kind of ferruginous earth (in 
which the diamonds are found mixed with 
flints), and washing it. The former opera¬ 
tion is performed during the hot season, at a 
time when the beds of the rivers and torrents 
are dry, and the diamond-sand can be easily 
extracted. When the wet season arrives, the 
operation of washing commences. It is per¬ 
formed in the open air, and frequently under 
sheds, where the action of the sun is least 
likely to injure the health of the negroes. At 
the bottom of the shed glides a small stream, 
which occupies one of its sides. Seats, rais¬ 
ed, and without backs, are arranged along the 
shed, in such a manner that the subaltern of¬ 
ficers (feltors) are enabled to watch the negroes 
at work. One feltor superintends eight ne¬ 
groes. Each negro- works in a compartment 
of the shed, separated or walled off, as it 
were, from the others. The cascalhao to be 
examined is placed in troughs close to the 
stream, and the negroes are introduced entire¬ 
ly naked, excepting in time of extreme cold, 
when they are allowed a kind of waistcoat, 
but without either pockets or lining. They 
are furnished with an alavanca, a kind of 
handspike, by means of which they separate 
the earth from the flint, and then, taking the 
largest stones in their hands, they proceed to 
search for the diamonds. Notwithstanding 
the precaution of making the negroes work 
naked, robberies of diamonds are of frequent 
occurrence. When a negro discovers a dia¬ 
mond, having first shown it to the feltor, he 
deposites it in a large wooden vessel suspend¬ 
ed in the middle of the shed. If any negro 
is fortunate enough to discover a diamond 
weighing seventeen carats, he is purchased by 
the government, and receives his liberty. 
The discovery of a stone of less weight also 
confers liberty upon the finder, but with some 
restrictions. Various premiums are distribu- 








DIAMONDS. 


128 


ted, according to the value of the stone, even 
to a pinch of tobacco. Notwithstanding ev¬ 
ery imaginable precaution, negroes find means 
to purloin diamonds, which they dispose of to 
smugglers (contrabandistas) at a very low 
price. The latter dispose of them chiefly at 
Tiiucu and Villo do Principe. They obtain 
a higher price at the latter, because then- 
risks are greater in transporting them thither. 
The negroes frequently contrive to impose 
upon the contrabandistas, as they have the 
means, by some simple process, of giving 
crystals the appearance of rough diamonds, 
so as effectually to deceive them. Formerly 
there were as many as thirty thousand ne¬ 
groes employed in the mines, but the number 
employed at a later day did not exceed twen¬ 
ty thousand. 

The diamonds differ greatly in size. There 
are some so small that twenty would scarcely 
make a carat. It is rarely that, in the course 
of a year, more than two or three are found 
weighing from seventeen to twenty carats; 
and two years may pass without discovering 
one of the weight of thirty carats. 

The administration of the diamond mines 
is regulated bv a law of 1771. Down to the 
date of this law, the right of working the 
diamond mines was farmed out; but, from 
that period, the government has taken it into 
its own hands, and they are all under the su¬ 
perintendence of a board. The crown re¬ 
ceives one fifth of the total value. 

To bring diamonds to that perfection in 
which their beauty consists, the diamond-out- 
ters begin by rubbing two rough diamonds 
against each other, after having well cement¬ 
ed them to the ends of two blocks, called 
cutting-sticks, thick enough to be held in the 
hand. By this means they rub off the dull 
outer crust, and reduce them to form, in order 
to their being polished ; and this powder, thus 
rubbed off, and received in a little box, serves 
to polish the stones. Diamonds are polished 
by means of a mill, which turns a wheel of 
cast iron, smeared with diamond-dust, mixed 
with oil of olives. This wheel moves hori¬ 
zontally ; and before the diamonds are applied 
to it, they are soldered into pieces of metal 
prepared for that purpose. But diamonds 
are more expeditiously divided, by finding 
the grain of the stone, as it is called; that is, 
the disposition of the laminae or plates of 
which it is composed, and introducing between 
them the point of a fine chisel. When this 
is properly done, a stone will split as evenly 
as a piece of talc, and give two diamonds or 
more, if the thickness will allow it, of the 
same breadth or surface with the original one. 
The splitting of a diamond sometimes answers 
another end, when the stone has a flaw or 
blemish in it, which greatly debases its value; 


for, by separating the plates at a proper 
depth, the flaw may be removed. 

The diamonds chosen for cutting glass are 
all crystallized. The faces are curved, and 
hence the meeting of any two of them pre¬ 
sents a curvilinear edge. If the diamond be 
so placed that the line of the intended cut is 
a tangent to this edge near its extremity, and 
if the two surfaces of the diamond laterally 
adjacent, be equally inclined to the surface of 
the glass, then the conditions necessary for 
effecting the cut are complied with. In addi¬ 
tion to the cutting and engraving of glass, the 
diamond has been very advantageously em¬ 
ployed in drawing minute lines on the surface 
of steel, by -which all of the beautifully- 
variegated tints of the rainbow may be pro¬ 
duced. 

As an article of commerce, the value of 
diamonds is measured by various circumstan¬ 
ces, among which are their size, form, weight, 
color, purity, and cutting. In the diamonds 
which have been polished, the most valuable 
are the limpid, which command a price twice 
as great as those that are tainted with blue, 
gray, black, yellow, or vitrous spots. The 
quality of diamonds, in reference to their pu¬ 
rity and transparency, is described by the 
terms the first, second, and third water. The 
first are those which are of the utmost clear¬ 
ness, and free from any fault; the second are 
marred by dark spots or flaws ; and the third 
are of the least value, being tinged with yel¬ 
low, brown, green, blue, or blackish flaws. 
Nor is the cutting of the diamond of less im¬ 
portance than its quality, for this is regulated 
by its form. The proportion of the height to 
the circumference of the diamond, and the 
regular order of the sides, tending to increase 
its brilliancy, governs, in some measure, its 
value. Hence the brilliant is of greater val¬ 
ue than the rose-diamond, and the rose-dia¬ 
mond than the table-stone. Although the 
value of the different species of the diamond 
is regulated by certain fixed rules known to 
jewellers, still it is depending so much on va¬ 
rying circumstances, that no permanent valu¬ 
ation can be established for the different sorts. 
It appears, however, that they advance in a 
geometrical ratio according to their form. 

The different forms in which diamonds are 
cut by the Dutch and English, and thus va¬ 
rying in value according to their size and 
quality, are familiar to all who are conversant 
with our jewellers’ shops. The form most 
calculated for lustre is the brilliant. 

The rose-diamond that is usually cut from 
the gem which is too thin to be cut into a 
brilliant without much loss, has only a crown, 
and is formed of equilateral triangles. It is 
composed of two rows of three-sided facets. 
Fragments of rose-diamonds which are very 









DIAMONDS. 129 


small are sometimes seen, and also small roses 
for ear-drops. 

The table-diamond is a flat gem, without 
much depth or lustre. It is usually cut into 
a table, with four planes and eight facets. 

Peculiar care is required in the cutting of 
gems depending upon their form and color, in 
order to exhibit their beauty with the greatest 
effect. 

The step, or pavilion cut, is especially 
adapted to colored gems, as the light is re¬ 
flected by this form in the highest degree. 

The mixed facet-cut is compounded of the 
brilliant and pavilion cuts, the first of which 
is on the crown, and it contributes greatly to 
increase the lustre. 

The elongated brilliant facet-cut is some¬ 
times used in the cutting of stones. 

The table-cut, appropriate for sealstones, is 
composed of an uneven and conchoidal table, 
surrounded by one or two circular rows of 
facets. 

The double facet-cut has a crown compo¬ 
sed of two rows of facets, with a collet of a 
pavilion form, and is well adapted to conceal 
any flaws or fissures in the stone. 

The cabochon-cut is either flat, convex, or 
double-convex, that is, arched ; it may be on 
both sides, or only on one. This cut is par¬ 
ticularly applicable for semi-transparent gems, 
or those which display their peculiar colors, 
such as the opal, moonstone, &c., or collect 
the light in a small space, on one or several 
parts, according to the convexity they have 
received. The cabochon-cut may have one, 
two, or more rows of facets, and opaque 
stones receive with advantage the facets over 
the whole surface. Garnets, for instance, 
which are generally of a dark color, are cut 
ert cabochon, the lower plane excavated in a 
circular form, and the upper plane all around 
with facets. Other gems, the interior faults 
of which can not be concealed, may be im¬ 
proved by this cut, giving them more trans¬ 
parency, vividness of color, and a greater de¬ 
gree of fire. 

As allusion has been made to the great 
value of diamonds, it may be mentioned that 
at a very extensive sale of gems made in 
London, during the year 1837, there 'were 
sold an amount to the value of nearly two 
hundred and thirty thousand dollars. Among 
these there were a pair of ear-rings, formerly 
the property of Queen Charlotte, which pro¬ 
duced fifty-five thousand dollars; a sapphire, 
set with brilliants, two thousand, four hundred 
and sixty-five dollars; brilliant drops, which 
were stated to have formerly belonged to 
Marie Antoinette, eight thousand, eight hun¬ 
dred and seventy-five; a Turkish dagger, 
mounted with brilliants and rubies, sold for 
four thousand dollars; and the celebrated 


Nassauck diamond was purchased at thirty- 
six thousand. 

It may be proper here to notice the princi¬ 
pal diamonds which are now known to exist 
in Europe. A diamond in the possession of 
the grand-mogul, is in form and size like half 
a hen’s egg. Its weight is two hundred and 
ninety-seven and three sixteenths carets. It 
is cut in a rose form, is perfectly limpid, and 
it is valued at eight hundred thousand dollars. 
A diamond found upon the island of Borneo, 
was formerly in the possession of the rajah of 
Mattan. This is of an egg form, and of the 
first water. It weighs three hundred and 
sixty-seven carats. A diamond, formerly be¬ 
longing to the sultan of Persia, about the 
size of a pigeon’s egg, was purchased by the 
emperess Catharine for about four hundred 
and fifty thousand dollars, and an annuity of 
twenty thousand. One weighing a hundred 
and thirty-eight and a half carats is in the 
treasury of Rio Janeiro; and a single gem is 
possessed by the Austrian crown, which is 
valued at half a million of dollars. The fa¬ 
mous regent or Pitt diamond, which was pur¬ 
chased by Mr. Pitt, when governor of Ben- 
coolen, in Sumatra, and by him sold to the 
recent duke of Orleans, who placed it among 
the crown-jewels of France, was valued by a 
commission of jewellers, in 1791, at over two 
millions of dollars. Another diamond, be¬ 
longing to the crown of France, is in the 
form of a pear. It is cut as a double rose- 
diamond, and was purchased for a hundred 
thousand dollars. Among the crown-jewels 
of France there is one diamond of a sky-blue, 
and valued at five hundred and fifty thousand 
dollars. A rough one in the possession of the 
prince-regent of Portugal, is said to weigh an 
ounce troy. 

Two large diamonds belong to the Turkish 
crown, one of which is valued at about one 
hundred and eighty thousand dollars; and 
one was discovered in Brazil, in 1780, which 
is now at Rio Janeiro, weighing seventy-two 
carats and three fourths grains. Another 
was found at the same place, weighing sev¬ 
enty carats. It is said that the largest dia¬ 
mond known in the world, is now in the pos¬ 
session of the king of Portugal. It is in its 
rough state, being the size of a pigeon’s egg, 
and has been valued at the enormous sum of 
two hundred and eighty millions of dollars, 
although it is the opinion of many jewellers 
that it is a white topaz. 

A brief description of the crown-jewels of 
Victoria, the reigning queen of England, may 
perhaps here be interesting. The crown it¬ 
self weighs about three pounds, and is com¬ 
posed of hoops of silver, enclosing a cap of 
blue velvet. These hoops are studded with 
precious stones; and upon the crown is a ball, 


9 











NIGHT.—THE SOLAR SYSTEM. 


130 


set also with precious stones, and surmounted 
with brilliants in the form of a Maltese cross. 
The rim is (lowered with Maltese crosses and 
the Jleurs-de-lis. In the centre of the large 
Maltese cross is a splendid sapphire, and in 
front is the immense ruby once worn by Ed¬ 
ward the black prince. Numerous other 
precious stones, rubies, pearls, and emeralds, 
are intermingled with these gems down to the 
rim, which is formed of ermine. The follow¬ 
ing is the estimated value :— 

Twenty diamonds round the circle, $7,500 

each ....... $150,000 

Two large centre diamonds, $10 000 each 20,000 

Fifty-four smaller diamonds, placed at the 

angles of the former .... 500 

Four crosses, each composed of twenty-five 

diamonds ...... 60,000 

Four diamonds on the tops of the crosses 200,000 

Eighteen diamonds contained in the fleurs- 

de lis. 50 000 

Eighteen smaller diamonds, in the same 10,000 
Pearls, diamonds, <Scc., on the arches and 

crosses ...... 50,000 

One hundred and forty-one diamonds on the 

mound ...... 2,500 

Twenty six diamonds on the upper cross 15.000 
Two circles of [marls about the rim . 4,000 


§5562,000 


NIGHT. 

’Tis night—solemn night; the broad eye 
of day has closed, and all its joyous sights and 
sounds have departed; a majestic gloom broods 
over all things; night has wrapped in her ob¬ 
livious mantle, the golden glories of day’s 
bright ruler, and naught breaks the fearful 
contrast, save the twinkling of some far-off’ 
star, whose feeble rays remind us that light 
has been. 

And yet the night is not wholly unlovely, 
or unloved ; for when the day is past, medi¬ 
tation delights to pursue her task ’neath her 
shadowing wing. When are the woods more 
solemn, than when darkness broods over the 
green foliage, or the night winds in fitful gusts 
sway the outspreading branches of the forest 
trees ? It is such a time as this that suits the 
spirit that lias drunk deeply of the cup of suf¬ 
fering, and these gloomy sights and solemn 
sounds arc sweeter than music to the ear 
which lias been satiated with the fulsome and 
unmeaning adulation of a false world, and the 
mind finds even in the forest’s gloom, and the 
wailing sound of the hoarse night wind, some¬ 
thing in unison with the sombre thoughts that 
are dwelling within. 

The thoughts, too, at such a season, are 
not drawn aside by the multitude of objects 
which bright day presents, but the mind is 
turned in upon itself—its own acts are the 

I_ 


objects of scrutiny, the emotions which lurk 
deep in the recesses of the soul are brought 
under strict view, passion is cooled, reason 
triumphs, and thought, for the moment, is 
supreme. 

Night is the season for examination; the 
acts of the day then present themselves be¬ 
fore the mind for judgment; conscience stamps 
its approval or condemnation on every action, 
and by its impartial voice we are taught to 
improve the future by the follies and errors 
of the past. 

Night is the time for devotion : the solemn 
sky, with its gleaming fires, and the awful 
silence which prevails, press holy feelings on 
the soul—feelings which bid man bow and 
humbly worship; for at such seasons the 
world is shut out, and man, cut off from the 
throng of his fellows, stands alone with God. 
How important then that sin should be con¬ 
fessed, pardon sought, and the conscience 
cleansed ere sleep be invited. 

Night is the time for music’s soft strain; 
its notes breaking on the stillness which reigns 
around, seem like the voices of far-off’ angels, 
and every pulsation of the heart is in unison 
with the song. The mind, too, is then better 
suited to the reception of holy impressions, 
and oft at such seasons we seem borne awav 
from earth, and stand with the heavenly- 
harpers near the eternal throne. 

Let us, then, ever improve its pensive 
gloom, and its solemn silence—let music swell, 
let prayer arise, let thought be free to range 
in the extended empire which God has given 
it, and we shall have abundant reason to bless 
God for the night. 


THE SOLAR SYSTEM. 

If the younger portion of our readers will 
commit to memory the following lines, they 
will ever after have a correct idea of the ar¬ 
rangement of our solar system. It will fix it 
in the memory like the length of the months 
by the old “thirty days hath September, J ’ &c. 

“ Poised in the centre hangs the glorious Sun, 
Round which the rapid Mercury doth run ; 

Next, in due order, Venus wheels her fiight, 

And then the Earth, and Moon, her satellite; 
Next fiery Mars pursues his round career ; 
Beyond, the circling Asteroids appear; 

The belted Jupiter remoter fiies, 

With his four moons attendant thro’ the skies; 
The belt-ringed Saturn roams more distant still, 
With seven swift moons he doth bis circuit fill; 
While with six satellites, that round him roll, 
Uranus slowly circumvolves the whole. 

But far beyond, unscanned by mortal eye, 

Io widening spheres, bright suns and systems lie, 
Circling in measureless infinity ! 

Pause o’er the mighty scenes, O man ! and raise 
Your feeble voice to the Ckkatok’s praise !’’ 




































ANCIENT WINE-TRESS. 


131 


UI|H 


ANCIENT WINE-PItESS, 

In Syria, the vintage begins about 
the middle of September, and contin¬ 
ues for about two months. It is earlier 
in Palestine, where the grapes are 
sometimes ripe even in June or July ; 
this arises probably from a triple pru¬ 
ning, in which case there is also a third 
vintage. The first is in August, the 
second in September, and the third in 
October. 

Joyous, indeed, was the season when 
the grapes were plucked off, and car¬ 
ried to the wine-press, which was built 
in the vineyard, whose site was care¬ 
fully chosen in fields of a loose, crum¬ 
bling soil, on a rich plain, a sloping hill, 
rising with a gentle ascent, or, where 
the acclivity was very steep, in terra¬ 
ces turned as much as possible from the 
setting sun. The wine-presses were 
either built of stone, or hewn out of a 
large rock. The grapes were thrown 
into the upper part, to be trodden by 
men, and the juice flowed out into re¬ 
ceptacles beneath, as appears from the 
engraving. The treading of the wine- 

n o o 

press was laborious, but it was per¬ 
formed with singing, and sometimes ac¬ 
companied with musical instruments. 

Oil of olives was expressed in the 
same way, before the invention of mills. 
The existence of this practice in Pales¬ 
tine, is evident, from the language of 



































































































































132 SHAKERS OF NEW LEBANON. 


Moses : “ Let Asher dip his foot in oil and 
from the threatening, “ Thou shalt sow, but 
thou shalt not reap ; thou shalt tread- the ol¬ 
ives, but thou shalt not anoint thee with oil; 
and sweet wine, but shalt not drink wine,” 
Micah vi. 15. 

To the custom of treading grapes and olives, 
reference is frequently made by the inspired 
writers. Thus the glorious conqueror, who 
appeared in vision to Isaiah, said, “ I have 
trodden the wine-press alone ; and of the peo¬ 
ple there was none with me : for I will tread 
them in mine anger, and trample them in my 
fury; and their blood shall be sprinkled on 
my garments, and I will stain all my raiment,” 
Isaiah Ixiii. 3. As the clothes of the treaders 
were sprinkled with the juice of the grapes, 
so were the garments of the Redeemer with 
the blood of his enemies, who were as easily 
and completely crushed by his almighty pow¬ 
er, as are the full ripe clusters of the vine, 
beneath the feet of men. The same figure is 
employed in the book of Revelation, xiv. 
18-20, to express the fearful destruction which 
awaits the adversaries of God and of man. 


SHAKERS OF NEW LEBANON. 

Perhaps there is no sect whose principles 
and forms have been so misrepresented, and 
so little understood by the world, as the 
people called shakers. We have no doubt 
our readers will be interested in reading a 
description of a Sunday passed, in the green 
lap of New Lebanon, at the oldest and richest 
establishment of that most singular people, in 
this country. There, in the midst of that 
sweet circle of picturesque and verdant hills, 
two extremes of modern life have nestled down: 
fashionable society around the “springs,” 
which suggest at least, if they do not exactly 
afford, physical health and comfort, and a 
couple of miles off, that sober company of 
separatists around what they deem “ springs 
of living water, welling up to everlasting life.” 
They are associationists in their way, which 
truly is a most negative and inverse way to 
one who is a believer in the passions, as the 
essential springs of all good energy in man, 
fed from the fountain of Divine love; but, 
they illustrate some of the advantages of 
combination, and we were moved to seek a 
lesson from them. 

Their industry we could not see, it being 
Sunday, but there was a chance for us to 
spell out something of their life-ideal from the 
strange symbols of their worship. Passing 
their highly-cultivated gardens, and their 
neat, plain dwellings, we came to the meeting- 


j house, a spacious and quaint structure, which 
had yet a certain architectural beauty of its 
own. By its lead-colored, semi-cylindrical 
long roof, and its starched air of neatness, it 
resembled a meek quaker bonnet, while the 
details of doors and windows and green blinds 
were graceful and appropriate. Yet use and 
plainness evidently were the only presiding 
canons of their art. The side on which we 
entered, was filled from end to end with curi¬ 
ous spectators like ourselves, though few of 
them we fancy, regarded the matter in so 
serious a mood as we did. Upon the other 
side, across the spacious, smooth floor, gleam¬ 
ing like a sheet of letter paper, and so clean 
that not a speck was visible upon it, we caught 
the full ensemble of the worshippers, ranged 
on benches running half across the room— 
benches without backs—sitting demure, their 
hands upon their knees, row r s of men opposite 
to rows of women. The first glimpse of the 
latter startled us like a scene in the tombs;— 
they looked so much like white and sheeted 
ghosts, in their death-like linen caps and 
facial bandages and robes that hung so straight 
and close to the gaunt figures; old and young 
alike reduced to the same pattern, of which 
the ideal seemed the extinction of any most 
remote suggestion of beauty. The men and 
boys in their old-mannisli uniform looked 
generally hale and cheerful, with a shrewd 
twinkle in the eye, despite a placid and sub¬ 
missive manner. Most of them were gentle 
and mechanical looking persons ; but here and 
there was one more imposing and ambitious 
looking figure, who seemed as if he should 
have passions, and whose existence amid that 
monotonous, tame life we could not so readily 
account for. But the women were a sad 
sight; on them falls the heaviest penalty of 
this dear-bought and unnatural peace. The 
gravity of the scene was certainly impressive. 
Assuming that a life which satisfies so many 
and so long, and which has so succeeded in 
an outward way, could not have nothing at 
the core of it, and that the inner sense of their 
peculiarities must form a consistent whole of 
some sort, we gave respectful and studious at¬ 
tention to the exercises which now opened. 

An aged voice, proceeding somewhere from 
the centre of the worshippers (we could not 
see the person), congratulated them upon the 
return of their sweet privilege of worshipping 
God after their own manner and understand¬ 
ing. This was simply and briefly said, and 
in a tone not cold nor formal, but quite hu¬ 
man. Then by a simultaneous movement 
(whence communicated we could not tell), 
they were all on their feet at once, and began 
to pile away the benches in their respective 
corners, male and female, to make an open 
area for what was to follow, and stood waiting 










j 

SHAKERS OF NEW LEBANON. 133 


in their cross rows again. An elder then step¬ 
ped forward and addressed the spectators, 
respectfully requesting them to abstain from 
talking, laughing, and other interruptions, and 
especially setting forth their law of cleanliness 
which had been grossly outraged on the pre¬ 
vious Sunday, by some low, tobacco-spitting 
visiters, who had come to sneer and be amused. 
The lesson was timely and impressive, and 
judging from the entire effect it took upon the 
crowd we should say that some of them could 
not have attended church to better purpose. 
We should not wonder if some careless hearts 
had the idea of outward purification seriously 
engraved upon them there, for the first time 
perhaps in their lives. The speaker said he 
was aware that their customs were singular, 
naturally causing astonishment and even ridi- 
cule in those who could not understand them 
as they did ; but he gently reminded them of 
the respect due to their peculiarities, to which 
they had a perfect right. Indeed, they all 
evinced a perfect sane consciousness of their 
relative position to the rest of the world, which 
they did not suffer to disturb them. The 
most singular thing about their singularities, 
was the absence of all fanatical intoxication. 
In the songs and dances which ensued, we 
saw nothing of that violence and phrensy which 
have been reported of them; all was mod¬ 
erate, deliberate, and self-possessed ; no dis¬ 
tortions, whirlings round on tiptoe, groans, or 
frantic shouts. The spirit did not seem to 
wrestle with them, but to descend upon them 
soothingly; and we were convinced that the 
spirit of their system is subdued and quiet and 
that if such things ever occur as above hinted 
they are only exceptional. 

First came a spiritual hymn or chant, sung 
standing, to a very homely, humdrum, secular 
sort of a tune, with a brisk, jig-like motion, 
It was sung in unison, all the voices on one 
part, from gruffest base to shrillest treble ; 
the very plainest, baldest thing that could be 
called music having a rhythm and a melody, 
but rigorously rejecting all unnecessary wealth 
and coloring of harmony. The close of every 
song was marked by unisonous, sepulchral 
lengthening out of the last note. There 
reigned the same neatness and correctness in 
this performance, as in their costume and their 
clean floor; no false notes or slips of time. 
It was music emptied of the sentiment of 
beauty, of which all their ways betray a hor¬ 
ror: it was music as an exercise, a ceremony, 
and not as a fine art; the ghost, or skeleton 
of music, enough to show that they do believe 
in meas]^?, rhythm, order, but not in charm 
and beauty. They seem to recognise the in¬ 
herent presence of music in the very law of 
life, to accept the symbol of pervading har¬ 
mony, but they reject the ultimate expression 


and result thereof in forms of art, in beauty; 
they study to possess the law without the 
concretion and embodiment of it in nature; it 
seems the very essence of their creed to wage 
exterminating war with nature, to soak out 
the blood and coloring substances from life’s 
fleshy tissue, and simply keep the pale and 
lifeless form; and so if they accept the visits 
of the angel, St. Cecilia, it is only when she 
comes in a mop-cap and strait gown of a 
ghostly white, and promises to leave behind 
her every tempting charm, and everything 
that can lend worth to earth. For the shaker 
wants the spiritual without the material; not 
the spiritual in the material. Life without 
passion, unity without variety, use without 
beauty, law without attraction, and purity by 
sheer simplistic abstinence, are his fancied 
solution, but in reality evasion, of the grand 
life-problem. 

Next came the dance. Two by two the 
men, and two by two the women, getting 
time and impulse from the jig-like hymn of 
their own chanting, both hands dangling loose 
and fin-like before the breast, went journey¬ 
ing round the room in circles, with strange 
limping step, stout old men and starch old 
maidens, spite of solemn faces, stepping off 
as briskly as the youngest, and forgetting the 
apparent loss of dignity in the profound obe¬ 
dience of all this. Some of the older and in¬ 
firm members only stood still and looked on, 
but kept up the same dangling of the hands, 
as if to fan the flame. Occasionallv they 
would pause in the middle of these “divine- 
circles,” as one of the speakers called them, 
and the silence would be broken by some fe¬ 
male voice, supposed to be under the moving 
of the spirit, declaring “ her unspeakable sat¬ 
isfaction in this life, that she felt that she had 
found God,” and a few more sentences to this 
effect, which was answered in like quiet man¬ 
ner, passionless, and mechanical, by some 
other sister, or by some old man, or young 
convert warmly giving his experience. Then 
they would journey on again, with steady 
earnest pertinacity, as if by way of symbol¬ 
izing the dull journey of life. 


Reason. —Reason is used by those most 
acute in distinguishing, to signify that power 
of the mind by which we draw inferences, or 
by which we are convinced, that a relation 
belongs to two ideas, on account of our having 
found that these ideas bear certain relations 
to other ideas. It is that faculty which en¬ 
ables us, from relations and ideas that are 
known, to investigate such as are unknown, 
and without which we never could proceed 
in the discovery of truth a single step beyond 
first principles. 









SOCIAL INFLUENCE. 


134 


SOCIAL INFLUENCE. 

It is a most interesting, as well as solemn 
fact, that every individual member of society 
is responsible, to some degree, for the common 
good. We may say to each one, the Almighty 
has placed the moral character, the social con¬ 
dition, the spiritual growth of many others, to 
a considerable extent, under your care. He 
has linked together all men with a thousand 
intersecting chains; many of which, so to 
speak, connect with each one of us; and by 
means of these, our influence is continually 
flowing out in every direction. Thus we are 
reciprocally influencing each other’s conduct, 
and moulding each other’s character. 

It is astonishing how much influence a single 
person sometimes has over a whole communi¬ 
ty. He impresses his mark upon all around 
him, and it is visible to all. But the influence 
of a person is not to be measured by its visible 
effects. Those cases which are the most 
striking, generally attract attention because 
they bear somewhat of an eccentric type, and 
have respect to things out of the common 
course.—When the influence is to anything 
peculiar, it is instantly seen. But in propor¬ 
tion as it falls in with a current, or is expan¬ 
sive and well balanced, it loses its individual¬ 
ity. The most obvious case which meets our 
eye, is only an example of that formative 
power which we all have over each other; 
though it is generally more secret in its ef¬ 
fects. 

Let us not underrate this influence, nor 
take too limited views of its extent. There 
is no one who does not possess and exercise 
it, and there is no one who is not affected by 
it in others. And, if desirable, its amount 
may always be increased by cultivating those 
qualities, and expanding those faculties of ours 
upon which it is based. 

There are various distinct spheres of life 
where this influence is peculiarly exerted, 
and wherein Providence seems to have de¬ 
signed to afford us an opportunity for benefit¬ 
ing each other. 

One of these spheres is the family. By 
ordaining the ties of kindred, and collecting 
us together in family groups, a foundation 
has been laid for much delightful and im¬ 
proving influence. The relations into which 
we are thus brought to each other, give us a 
reciprocal power which, if rightly improved, 
secures the most beneficial results; but which, 
if perverted, is to an equal extent disastrous. 
The influence of a parent over a child, proba¬ 
bly exceeds every other. By it, the child’s 
character will receive a bias which nothing 
can afterward fully remove. Hence the un¬ 
told importance of giving it early a right di¬ 
rection. “ Take this child and nurse it for 


me,” is the address of God to every parent, 
and a solemn responsibility attends the charge. 
The child will be very much what the parent 
attempts to make it. Every hour impressions 
will be made upon it which nothing can ef¬ 
face. Nor is the influence of other members 
of the family upon each other, very much 
below that of the parent. 

Next we will mention the social circle of 
friends. The influence here exerted ought, 
perhaps, to be estimated next to that in the 
family. In such a circle, drawn together by 
the attractive power of coincident tastes and 
feelings, where heart mingles with heart, and 
thoughts unbidden flow freely forth, there is 
such a blending of spirits, and such a trust¬ 
ful abandonment of self to the guidance of 
others, as always results in a mental assimi¬ 
lation of character. 

Even the local circumstance of neighbor¬ 
hood provides another sphere of influence, by 
no means of little account. For it is impossi¬ 
ble, even for the most dissimilar persons to be 
near each other, to be daily seen, and brought 
into contact in the business of life, without 
insensibly producing deep impressions, and 
working changes of feeling and character. 

The civil bonds of society, also, by uniting 
men in national ties, and awakening common 
feelings of mental dependence, oneness of in¬ 
terest, and patriotic desire, is another founda¬ 
tion for personal influence of considerable ex¬ 
tent. Those who are united together for the 
support of a good government, to maintain 
common rights, to resist oppression, establish 
justice, and foster those institutions which are 
necessary for the well-being of society and 
progress of the race, have, from this interest¬ 
ing relation to each other, a mutual sympathy 
awakened, which gives them an important in¬ 
fluence over each other’s hearts. 

The last sphere of social influence which 
we shall mention in this brief article, is the 
church. As religion is one of the deepest 
principles of our nature, the influence arising 
from this source is of wonderful power. Each 
of the other relations w r e have mentioned af¬ 
fords a means of promoting mental and spirit¬ 
ual improvement; but this, being founded 
upon spiritual affinities, affords the most de¬ 
lightful opportunities for operating upon other 
minds.—So tender and sacred is this relation, 
that it invests the humblest member with a 
degree of consideration, and secures a defer¬ 
ence to his opinions and wishes, which he 
could not otherwise attain; while every one 
finds ample room here, and open hearts, to 
receive the good impressions he may have the 
ability and the will to make. 

But we will enlarge upon these various 
spheres of social influence. They are all in¬ 
teresting; they are all important; they are all 










THE LONDON 


attended with very weighty responsibilities. 
In the family, the social circle, the neighbor¬ 
hood, the state, the church, God has assigned 
to us the most important trusts, and given us 
the means, ay, even so appointed our condi¬ 
tion that we can not avoid being instrumental 
to the accomplishment of much, either good 
or evil. 


THE LONDON GIN-PALACE, 

The gin-palace is generally at the comer of 
two intersecting streets in a gin-drinkingneigh- 
borhood : it towers, in all the majesty of stuc¬ 
co pilasters, in genuine cockney splendor, over 
the dingy mansions that support it, like a ra¬ 
pacious tyrant over his impoverished subjects. 

The doors are large, swinging easily upon 
patent hinges, and ever half-and-half-—half¬ 
open and half-shut, so that the most undecided 
touch of the dram-drinker admits him. The 
windows are of plate-glass, set in brass sashes, 
and are tilled with flaming announcements in 
large letters, “ The Cheapest House in Lon¬ 
don”—“Cream of the Valley”—“Creaming 
Stout”—“Brilliant Ales”—“Old Tom, four- 
pence a quartern”—“Hodge’s Best for mix¬ 
ing”—and a variety of other entertainments 
for the men and beasts who make the gin- 
palace their home. At night splendid lights 
irradiate the surrounding gloom, and an illu¬ 
minated clock serves to remind the toper of 
the time he throws away in throwing away 
his reason. 

Within, the splendor is in keeping with the 
splendor without; counters fitted with zinc, 
and a long array of brass taps ; fittings of the 
finest Spanish mahogany, beautifully polished; 
bottles, containing cordials, and other drugs, 
gilded and labelled, as in the apothecaries’ 
shops. At one side is the bar-parlor, an 
apartment fitted up with congenial taste, and 
usually occupied by the family of the publi¬ 
can ; in the distance are vistas, and sometimes 
galleries, formed altogether of huge vats of 
the various sorts of liquor dispensed in the es¬ 
tablishment. Behind the counter, which is 
usually raised to a level with the breasts of 
the topers, stand men in their shirt-sleeves, 
well-dressed females, or both, dispensers of 
the “short” and “heavy;” the under-sized 
tipplers, raising themselves on tiptoe, deposite 
the three halfpence for the “ drop” of gin, or 
whatever else they require, and receive their 
quantum of the poison in return ; ragged wo¬ 
men, with starveling children, match and bal¬ 
lad venders, fill up the foreground of the pic¬ 
ture. There are no seats, nor any accommo¬ 
dation for the customers in the regular gin- 


GIN-PALACE. 135 


palace ; every exertion is used to make the 
place as uncomfortable to the consumers as 
possible, so that they shall only step in to 
drink, and pay ; step out, and return to drink 
and pay again. No food of any kind is pro¬ 
vided at the gin-palace, save a few biscuits, 
which are exhibited in a wire cage for protec¬ 
tion against the furtive hand ; drink, eternal, 
poisonous drink, is the sole provision of this 
whited sepulchre. 

There is not in all London a more melan¬ 
choly and spirit-dep'ressing sight than the area 
of one of the larger gin-palaces on a wet 
night. There the homeless, houseless, mis- 
erables of both sexes, whether they have 
money or not, resort in numbers for a tem¬ 
porary shelter; aged women selling ballads 
and matches, cripples, little beggar-boys and 
girls, slavering idiots, pie-men, sandwich-men, 
apple and orange women, shell-fishmongers, 
huddled pell-mell, in draggle-tailed confusion. 
Never can human nature, one would imagine, 
take a more abject posture than is exhibited 
here; there is a character, an individuality, a 
family likeness, common to the whole race of 
sots; the pale, clayey, flaccid, clammy face, 
pinched in evei*y feature : the weeping, ferret¬ 
like, lack-lustre, eye, the unkempt hair, the 
slattern shawl, the untidy dress, the slipshod 
gait, too well betray the confirmed drunkard. 

The noises, too, of the assembled topers are 
hideous; appalling even when heard in an 
atmosphere of gin. Imprecations, execrations, 
objurgations, applications, until at length the 
patience of the publican, and the last copper 
of his customers are exhausted, when, rush¬ 
ing from behind his counter, assisted by his 
shopmen, he expels, vi et armis, the dilatory 
mob, dragging out by the heels or collars the 
dead drunkards, to nestle, as best they may, 
outside the inhospitable door. 

Here, unobserved, may you contemplate 
the infinite varieties of men self-metaphorsed 
into beasts; soaker, tippler, toper, muddler, 
dram-drinker, beer-swiller, cordial-tippler, sot. 

Here you may behold the barefoot child, 
hungry, naked, clay-faced, handing up on tip¬ 
toe that infernal bottle, which made it and 
keeps it what it is, and with which, when 
filled, it creeps home to its brutal father or 
infamous mother, the messenger of its own 
misery. 

Here the steady respectable sot, the good 
customer, slides in, and flings down his throat 
the frequent dram : then, with an emphatic 
“hah!” of gratification, drops his money, 
nods to his friend, the landlord, and for a short 
interval disappears. 

Here you may behold with pity and regret, 
and as much superadded virtuous indignation 
as the inward contemplation of your own con¬ 
tinence may inspire, the flaunting Cyprian, in 











AMERICA. 


136 


over-dressed tawdriness, calling, in shameless 
voice, for a quartern of “ pleasant-drinking” 
gin, which she liberally shares with two or 
three gentlemen, who are being educated for 
the bar of the criminal court. You may con¬ 
trast her short-lived hey-day of prosperous 
sin with that row of miserables seated by the 
wall, whose charms are fled, and whose voices 
are husky, while they implore you to treat 
them with a glass of ale, or supplicate for the 
coppers they see you receive in change from 
the barman ; and who are only permitted that 
wretched place of rest that they may beg for 
the benefit of the publican, and for his profit 
poison themselves with the alms of others. 


AMERICA. 

Our eastern borders behold the sun in all 
its splendor rising from the Atlantic, while 
the western shores are embraced in darkness 
by the billows of the Pacific. Our country 
has indeed a vast extent of territory, with the 
diversified climates of the globe. On the one 
hand, is the ever-smiling verdure of the beau¬ 
tiful and balmy south, and on the other, the 
sterile hills and sombre pine forests of the 
dreary north; and intermediate, the out¬ 
stretched region where the chilling blasts of 
winter are succeeded by the zephyrs and the 
flowers of summer. 

The snow-clad summits of her mountains 
look down upon the elemental war of the 
storm-clouds floating above the shrubless 
prairie, that realizes the obsolete notion of 
the earth being an immense plain ; and, tow¬ 
ard the ocean on the east and the west, upon 
the broad rich valleys where the father of 
waters, the “endless river,” and the majestic 
Columbia with its hundred branches gently 
winds along, or rapidly rush on to mingle their 
waters with the waves of the Pacific, the gulf 
of Mexico, or the magnificent expanse of our 
northwestern Caspian seas. 

Could the power of vision at once extend 
over our whole wide domain, what a grand, 
ennobling scene would be presented to a 
spectator standing upon one of the lofty peaks 
of the Rocky mountains, or, as Washington 
Irving aptly denominates it, “ the crest of the 
world.” And then to take, upon a summer 
day, a bird’s-eye view of all our roads, canals, 
railroads, lakes and rivers—the innumerable 
postcoaches whirling along over our one hun¬ 
dred and thirty thousand miles of postroad; 
or steamers gliding magically along our wa¬ 
ters ; our locomotives shooting off’ like the 
comet upon its track; our rapid intercourse 
between the seaboard and the inland mari¬ 


time cities; and our ships approaching and 
departing with the commerce of the world ; 
with all the various, complicated movements 
of the country, town and city; and then, like 
Prior on Gronger hill, to hear all the different 
musical and discordant sounds coming up to 
this “ crest of the world,” if they could com¬ 
prehend the entire scene, from the bellowing 
of the buffalo, leading his shaggy hundreds 
over the prairie, to the roar of the cataract as 
it shakes the earth with its stupendous plunge, 
with all this beneath the eye and upon the 
ear well might the enraptured spectator ex¬ 
claim, what a sublime panorama ! 

For variety, beauty, grandeur, and sublim¬ 
ity of scenery, what country can surpass our 
own; what country can equal the life-sustain¬ 
ing power that slumbers in her soil! With 
all her wealth, improvements and intelligence, 
and with our twenty millions of inhabitants, 
still we have but just commenced the settle¬ 
ments of our country, and are only on the 
borders of the mighty wilderness. Her un¬ 
developed resources are capable of sustaining 
a free population of more than one hundred 
millions. A century hence, if permitted to 
enjoy the blessingsof peace, the United States 
of America, with fifty stars upon her banner, 
may welcome, at the dawning of that New- 
Year’s morn, no less than one hundred and 
twenty millions of happy freemen. How 
exalted may then be the intelligence and vir¬ 
tue of the people. The success of our efforts 
in the improvement of our schools, and the 
general diffusion of knowledge, enables us to 
make an estimate of what our posterity of 
the third generation are likely to become. 

Active must be the ardent imagination that 

o 

can picture the scene at a glance. The ideal 
landscape can not equal the reality, however 
lively may be the fancy. The idea of such 
a view as we have fancied to be beheld from 
the mountain top a hundred years from this 
day, can never be conveyed by words, the 
picture must be painted by the wonder-work¬ 
ing power of the pencil of ideality. 

Our country! Such is thy physical great¬ 
ness, and such the intellectual and moral 
power that now gives promise of a glorious 
destiny, far beyond all parallel in the annals 
of the world. For such a destiny may thy 
institutions be well sustained ; and may a 
halo of glory play around the name of every 
man who honestly labors in behalf of his fel¬ 
lows and posterity, to uphold, purify, per¬ 
petuate and extend them. 


Benevolence.— Benevolence is always a 
virtuous principle. Its operations always se¬ 
cure to others their natural rights; and it lib¬ 
erally superadds more than they are entitled 
to claim. 


















The Pioneer of the Western Forest. 










































































































































































































































































































































































































































































138 EXPULSION OF THE ACADIAN3. 


THE WESTERN EMIGRANT. 

BY MRS. L. IK SIGOURNEY. 

Amid those forest shades that proudly reavgd 
Their unshorn beauty toward the favoring skies, 

An axe rang sharply. There, with vigorous arm, 
Wrought a bold emigrant, while by his side 
His little son with question and response 
Beguiled the toil. 

“ Boy, thou hast never seen 
Such glorious trees, and when their giant trunks 
Fall, how the firm earth groans ! llemembcrest thou 
The mighty river on whose breast we sailed 
So many days on toward the setting sun ? 

Compared to that, our own Connecticut 
Is but a creeping stream.” 

“ Father, the brook 

That by onr door went singing, where I launched 
My tiny boat with ail the sportive boys, 

When school was o’er, is dearer far to me 
Than all these deep, broad waters. To my eye 
They are as strangers. And those little trees 
My mother planted in the garden bound 
Of our first home, from which the fragrant peach 
Fell in its ripening gold, were fairer sure 
Than this dark forest shutting out the day.” 

“ What ho ! my little girl,”—and with light step, 

A fairy creature hasted toward her sire, 

And setting down the basket that contained 
The noon’s repast, looked upward to his face 
With sweet, confiding smile. 

“ See, dearest, see 

'Yon bright-winged parroquet, and hear the song 
Of that gay red bird echoing through the trees, 
Making rich music. Didst thou ever hear 
In fair New England such a mellow tone V’ 

“ I had a robin that did take the crumbs 
Each night and morning, and his chirping voice 
Did make me joyful, as I went to tend 
My snow-drops. I was always laughing there. 

In that first home. I should be happier now, 
Methiuks, if I could find among these dells 
The same fresh violets.” 

Slow night drew on, 

And round the rude hut of the emigrant, 

The wrathful spirit of the autumn storm 
Spake bitter things. His wearied children slept, 
And he, with head declined, sat listening long, 

To the swollen waters of the Illinois, 

Dashing against their shores. Starting, he spake : 

11 Wife ! did I see thee brush away a tear ? 

Say, was it so ? Thy heart was with the hall3 
Of thy nativity. Their sparkling lights, 

Carpets and sofas, and admiring guests, 

Befit thee better than these rugged walls 
Of shapeless logs, and this lone hermit home.” 


-“ No—no ! All was so still around, methought, 

Upon my ear that echoed hymn did steal, 

Which 'mid the church where erst vve paid our vows 
So tuneful pealed. But tenderly thy voice 

Dissolved the illusion -and the gentle smile 

Lighting her brow, the fond caress that soothed 
Her waking infant, reassured his soul, 

That wheresoe'er the pure affections dwell 
And strike a healthful root, is happiness. 

-Placid and grateful to his rest he sank ; 

But dreams, those wild magicians, which do play 
Such pranks when Reason slumbers, tireleas wrought 
Their will with him. Up rose the busy mart 
Of his own native city, roof and spire, 

All glittering bright, in Fancy’s frostwork ray. 

Forth came remembered forms; with curving neck, 
The steed his boyhood nurtured proudly neighed— 
The favorite dog. exulting round his feet, 

Frisked, with shrill, joyous bark ; familiar doors 
Flew open—greeting hands with hi9 were linked 
In friendship's grasp—he heard the keen debate 
From congregated haunts, where mind with mind 
Doth blend and brighten—and till morning roved 
’Mid the loved scenery of his fatherland. 


EXPULSION OF THE ACADIANS. 

Some dispute existing between the English 
and the French, respecting the territorial lim¬ 
its of both parties, the region about Hudson’s 
bay, and the province of Acadie, since called 
Nova Scotia, to settle the matter, were ceded 
to Great Britain in 1713. 

Acadie was inhabited by an excellent French 
population. When these good people found 
their country yielded to England, and them¬ 
selves no longer subjects of the French king, 
they were grieved to be forced to acknowledge 
another master. They knew that the French 
and English were hostile to each other, and 
they dreaded to he compelled, some time or 
other, to take up arms against Frenchmen ; 
they, therefore, entreated the English that 
they might never be forced to so painful a ser¬ 
vice, and might be excused from taking the 
oath of allegiance. 

This request received no special attention, 
hut, for a time, a kind forbearance was exer¬ 
cised toward them. After a period of forty 
years, the English government came to the 
conclusion that these neutral French, as they 
were called, might become dangerous to their 
interests by taking part with the Canadian 
French, their active enemies. On account of 
this presumed danger, without the least al¬ 
leged provocation, or the least show of justice, 
they took upon themselves to drive out of 
their possessions this peaceable, prosperous, 
and unoffending people. 













EXPULSION OF 


The Acadians had no warning of their fate. 
At harvest-time they were ordered to assem¬ 
ble in a certain district, and being collected, 
were informed they were prisoners—that their 
lands, cattle, and moveables, were no longer 
their own, but were confiscated by govern¬ 
ment—that they might take what they could 
convey away, but must immediately quit the 
province. 

In one single district, two hundred and fifty- 
five houses, as many barns, eleven mills, and 
one church, were destroyed. Ships were in 
readiness to convey the persecuted Acadians 
to difl'erent parts of the continent—to Louis¬ 
iana, to French Guiana in South America, 
and to distant places in the then British prov¬ 
inces on the Atlantic. 

These people had been remarkable for their 
industry, their skilful husbandry, their pure 
morals, and their exemplary piety. Their 
lands produced wheat and com, potatoes and 
flax, abundantly. Their houses were con¬ 
venient, and furnished with all things neces¬ 
sary to comfort. Their numerous flocks 
afforded the wool which was manufactured 
in the family for their clothing. They had 
no paper-money, and little silver or gold; 
and lived by simple exchange of commodities. 
So little contention arose among them, that 
courts and lawyers were needless; the wise 
and experienced decided tlieir small differen¬ 
ces. They were catholics ; the priests drew 
up their public acts, wrote their wills, and 
kept possession of the documents, until death 
called for the execution of them. To requite 
these services, the inhabitants allowed them 
one twenty-seventh of the harvest for their 
subsistence. 

At the time of the dispersion, the Acadians 
were 18,000 in number. No want existed 
among them; the poor were few, and the 
prosperous cheerfully supported those. These 
unfortunate people were the victims of their 
own integrity. Had they taken the oath 
which demanded of them to violate the best 
affections, they might have retained their 
houses, their fields, and their flocks. Their 
good feelings demanded only the innocent 
liberty of neutrality. 

In September, 1755, Colonel Winslow, an 
officer, usually resident at Marshfield, Ply¬ 
mouth county, Massachusetts, was sent with 
the king’s commission, to demolish the prop¬ 
erty of the neutrals, and to expel them, with¬ 
out exception, from the province. Colonel 
Winslow deeply regretted that he should be 
employed in this cruel service. He knew, 
so he said, that they were of “the same 
species” with himself, and “it was disagree¬ 
able to his make and temper” to inflict pain. 
His first measure, on landing at St. Pre, was 
to make prisoners of several hundreds of the 


THE ACADIANS. 139 


most considerable of the men of the settle¬ 
ment. “ In consequence of their earnest en¬ 
treaties, the prisoners were permitted, ten at 
once, to return to visit their wretched families, 
and to look, for the last time, upon their 
beautiful fields, and their loved and lost 
homes.” 

These unhappy men bore their misfortune 
with firmness, until they were ordered on 
hoard the transport-ship, to be dispersed 
among people whose customs, language, and 
religion, were opposed to all they held dear 
and sacred. 

On the 16th of September, the prisoners 
were drawn up six deep; and the young men, 
one hundred and sixty in number, were order¬ 
ed to go on board the vessels. They refused 
to do this, unless their families might be per¬ 
mitted to accompany them. This was denied, 
and the soldiers were ordered to do their duty. 
The wretched Acadians no longer resisted, 
but marched from their chapel of St. Pre to 
the ships. 

The road from the chapel to the shore, just 
one mile in length, was crowded with women 
and children, who, on their knees, and with 
eyes and hands raised to Heaven, entreated 
blessings on their young friends, so unmerci¬ 
fully torn from them. Some of the latter 
broke out into bitter lamentations; others 
prayed aloud; and another portion sang 
mournful hymns, as they took their way to 
the ships. The seniors formed another detach¬ 
ment, and their departure occasioned a similar 
scene of distress. Other vessels arrived, and 
their wives and children followed. Their 
dwellings were burnt before their eyes, and 
the work of destruction was complete. Eigh¬ 
teen thousand souls were cast forth upon the 
pitiless world. Desolate and depopulated 
was the beautiful tract they had occupied: 
their homes lay smoking in ruins ; the cattle, 
abandoned by their protectors, assembled 
about the forsaken dwelling-places, anxious¬ 
ly seeking their wonted masters; and all night 
long the faithful watch-dogs howled for the 
hands that had fed, and the roofs that had 
sheltered them. 

The distress of one family will serve to ex¬ 
hibit the sufferings of these refugees. There 
was among them a notary-public, named Rene 
Le Blanc. He loved the English. On one 
occasion, the Indians would have persuaded 
him to assist them, in an attempt upon the 
English. He refused, and the Indians, in 
resentment, made him prisoner, and detained 
him four years. 

At the time of the expulsion, Le Blanc 
was living at an advanced age. His fidelity 
to the English, and his sufferings on that ac¬ 
count, deserved favor, but he found none. 
Le Blanc had twenty children, and about one 








1 


140 AGRICULTURAL SCIENCE. 


hundred and fifty grand-children. These 
were embarked in different vessels, and scat¬ 
tered in different provinces. The unfortunate 
old man was set ashore in New York, with 
his wife, and the two youngest of their chil¬ 
dren. Love for those that were scattered, 
led him from one strange city to another. He 
reached Philadelphia. There he found three 
of his children, and there, despairing to re¬ 
cover the rest, in penury and sorrow, he sank 
into his grave. It may be questioned, if the 
history of the world exhibits a more heart¬ 
rending incident than the exile of this amiable 
and unhappy people. When the traveller 
contemplates the noble dikes reared by their 
industry—while he walks beneath the shade 
of their abundant orchards, and stands over 
the ruins of their cottages, or muses among 
their graves, his imagination goes back to a 
scene of rural felicity and purity seldom seen 
in the world, and his heart melts at the sud¬ 
den and dreadful fate of the Acadians. 


AGRICULTURAL SCIENCE, 

The great mountain chains which ridge 
and furrow the earth’s surface, consist of one 
and the same material, viz., granite. It is of 
the oldest or primary formation; it is also one 
of the hardest and most durable rocks; yet 
a very great portion of all soils have been 
derived from the disintegration of granite. 
Rocks, originally of many tons* weight, have 
been reduced to pebbles—pebbles to sand— 
sand to impalpable powder. 

Granite is composed of three minerals, viz., 
quartz, felspar, and mica. Quartz is the very 
hard tlinty part of granite, it is often found 
alone and pure, and is frequently called rock 
crystal, white flint rock, Ac. It is, howev¬ 
er, of different colors—white, rose, and smoky. 
In its chymical qualities it is considered of an 
acid nature. It composes much the larger 
portion of most soils, and is found nearly pure 
in the form of beautiful white sand upon the 
shores of seas, lakes, and many ponds. In 
agricultural chymistry, it is termed silex, or 
silica. 

Silex (quartz) enters into the composition 
of all plants ; were it not for this mineral sub¬ 
stance, to give strength or stamina to trees 
and upright plants, they would, if they could 
grow without it, all be trailing plants, unable 
to rear themselves from the ground, and have 
as little substance in them, as the potato-plant 
has, that vegetates and grows in the darkened 
cellar. The ashes of land-plants yield silex in 
large quantity, and it is evidently essential to 
the growth of plants, as it forms the skeleton 


for the sap-vessels, and it also forms the entire 
skin (glaze) of the corn-stalk, the stems of 
grapes, the straw of wheat and other grains, 
and on some of the ratans and bamboos, there 
is such a hard coating as to emit sparks when 
struck by a flint. 

Silex is not fusible alone in the hottest 
fire, nor soluble in pure water, and but slight¬ 
ly soluble in strong acids; but if mixed in 
certain proportions with potash or soda, and 
subjected to a strong heat, it readily melts and 
forms the well-known substance, glass. If 
mixed in the proportion of one part silex and 
two parts potash, it can be easily melted, and 
forms a soluble glass, that is, it can be readily 
dissolved in boiling water like sugar or salt; 
in this way silex is artificially rendered solu¬ 
ble. 

Nature, also, has a way of her own, in dis¬ 
solving the “ white flint rock” so as to pre¬ 
pare it to be taken up by the roots of plants, 
for the purpose of forming the skeleton, for 
the support of the sap-vessels, and for making 
the glaze upon the straw of wheat, &c., which 
is affected by the laws of crystallization, 
and in point of fact is a perfect coating of 
glass; the object of this coating is to protect 
the plant against the attacks of insects, and 
to give strength to the stem. 

It has been observed, glass is only a com¬ 
position of silex or sand and soda or potash, 
fused in the hot fire of a glass manufactory. 
That, coating the stems of grain, grass, Ac., 
is produced in the soil, simply by a chymical 
union of silica and potash or soda. The pot¬ 
ash and soda are derived from felspar. Felspar 
is one of the constituents of granite. It is not 
so hard, although it very much resembles 
quartz, but it differs widely from it in its 
chymical qualities, being a compound of 
silex, alumina (clay), and potash; there is 
from twelve to fifteen per cent, of potash in 
felspar, that is, a chymist, by analyzing 
100 lbs. of felspar, can obtain 12 or 15 lbs. 
of potash, or soda, as some kinds yield potash, 
others soda. The potash of commerce is de¬ 
rived from wood-ashes—soda from the ash of 
sea-plants; potash and grease make soft soap 
—soda and grease hard soap ; they have many 
qualities in common: both will unite with 
oils or fat—both will neutralize acids—both 
will dissolve silex—and both are alkalies. 
Mica, the other constituted of granite, con¬ 
tains six or seven per cent, of potash. These 
three minerals, as mixed up in our granite 
rocks, yield about seven per cent, of potash 

when analyzed. 

»/ 

Acids and alkalies react upon each other; 
the decomposition or rotting of vegetable mat¬ 
ters always produces carbonic and vegeta- 
| ble acids; in our forests this process is always 
| going on from the rotting of the fallen leaves, 

























RESEARCHES ON FOOD. 141 


twigs, branches, and trunks of trees. The 
water of the soil holding these acids in solu¬ 
tion, they act upon and dissolve the potash 
in the felspar and mica portion of the soil; 
and as much the larger portion of our soils are 
derived from the disintegrated and finely- 
pulverized granite, it contains a large amount 
of potash in the stones, pebbles, and finer parts 
of the soil. The potash being thus liberated 
or dissolved by the acids, in turn acts upon 
and dissolves a portion of the silex; and in 
solution they are taken up by the rootlets of 
plants, and, as has been already observed, 
by the laws of segregation and crystallization, 
the silex is deposited upon the surface of many 
plants, in a hard coating or glaze, and every 
tube or sap-vessel, in the trunks and branches 
of trees and plants, is lined with a coating of 
the same material. 

It is in this way, the potash, and the sandy 
or gritty portion we find left after burning 
wood, are derived from the soil. 

One of the most indispensable inorganic 
constituents of all land-plants, is potash. 
There is not a single plant in the field or the 
wood, the ashes of which does not contain it 
in one state of combination or another, and 
often in very large quantity—so much so, that 
the belief was once entertained that plants 
had the power of generating it within them¬ 
selves ; but more modem researches have 
most clearly pointed out the source whence 
it is derived, and the manner in which plants 
obtain it. 

The following are a few familiar illustra- 
tions of the solvent properties of potash. Vats 
and tubs, that have long been used for leach¬ 
ing ashes, have the silica that lined ever}’’ sap- 
vessel of the wood, and gave strength and 
solidity to it, dissolved out by the action 
of the potash. The woody fibre being insolu¬ 
ble by the alkali is left behind, and very 
much resembles flax, and it is nearly identical 
with the fibre of flax and cotton. Chymists 
have given to this woody fibre, the name of 
lignin. Paper-makers, in manufacturing pa¬ 
per from straw and coarse grasses, &c., take 
advantage of the solvent powers of the alkalies, 
potash, soda, or lime, to decompose the silica 
or hard coating upon the straw, &c. Thread 
and yarn spun from flax, are boiled in lye to 
dissolve the gritty matter and soften the 
threads. 


Goodness does not more certainly make 
men happy, than happiness makes them good. 
We must distinguish between felicity and 
prosperity ; for prosperity leads often to am¬ 
bition, and ambition to disappointment; the 
course is then over, the wheel turns round but 
once; while the reaction of goodness and hap¬ 
piness is perpetual. 


RESEARCHES ON FOOD, 

Nothing but accurate scientific investiga¬ 
tion can ever teach the proper treatment of 
the human system either in health or in 
disease. No length of experience of vague 
sensations, following up the taking of certain 
kinds of food, exercise, or drugs, is enough to 
determine the precise virtues of these appli¬ 
ances. There is only one sure way of find¬ 
ing out the exact uses and functions of what 
we eat, or what acts on our bodies; and that 
is, to determine precisely on the one hand the 
substances used by nature in the vital pro¬ 
cesses, and on the other, the composition of 
the materials that we supply to the system. 
If we determine first the wants of the body, 
and next the resources of the world, and select 
the latter exactly to meet the former, we will 
leam on truly rational grounds the way of 
keeping up the vigor of our physical frame¬ 
work. 

Baron Liebig is at present conducting a 
series of researches on the nutrition of animals, 
on exactly the same principle that he and oth¬ 
ers have proceeded with respect to the nourish¬ 
ment of plants. A plant is analyzed, and found 
to contain certain constant elements; some 
of these derived from air and water, others 
of an earthy kind derived from the solid soil. 
The requirements of the plant being thus laid 
open, it can be seen by a similar investiga¬ 
tion if a soil contains in proper form these 
precise elements. If it contain some of them, 
and not others, then what is wanting is com¬ 
municated, and no more. This is true insight 
and rational practice. All other schemes, 
founded on what is called “ farming experi¬ 
ence,” can be at best mere probabilities. 

Liebig has just presented to the world his 
researches on the chymistry of food, which 
is a most valuable contribution to the accurate 
knowledge of the action of food on the sys¬ 
tem. It is wholly devoted to the constitution 
of the flesh or muscles of the body, which 
form one of the largest and most important 
constituents of the system. The fleshy mas¬ 
ses, which make the soft parts between the 
skin and the deep-lying bones of the skeleton, 
are the prime forces of the moving organs— 
the source of strength, energy, and every form 
of bodily activity. The first consequence of 
derangement in the constitution of the flesh 
is a loss of working vigor: and this is 
apt to be followed up with disorders in the 
other parts of the system—the stomach, lungs, 
brain, &c. It is of prime importance, there¬ 
fore, that we should know in a rigorous sci¬ 
entific way (which means in the one perfect 
wav) what is necessary for preserving or 
restoring the elements which enter into healthy 
flesh. 








142 RESEARCHES ON FOOD. 


Liebig, accordingly, lias set to work, by 
cliymical analysis, to find what are the sub¬ 
stances that are combined together in animal 
muscle. Some of the substances that he has 
found are entire! / new; and he confesses that 
there yet remain one or two constituents 
which he has not sufficiently investigated, so 
as to be able to say what they are. 

Flesh is made up of solid fibres, cells, mem¬ 
branes—all of an organized structure—with 
fat; it also contains a very large quantity of 
liquid matter, called the juice of the flesh. 
This juice is a solution of a great many ele¬ 
ments or substances in water; the weight of 
the water itself being many times that of all 
the dissolved substances put together. Lie¬ 
big’s investigations have been directed to the 
analysis of these substances. He takes a 
mass of ten pounds of newly-killed flesh, re¬ 
duces it to a fine mince, mixes it with water, 
and squeezes the whole mass through a linen 
bag, until he has extracted as much of the 
liquid contents as possible, and left only the 
solid portions behind. When the fluid thus 
obtained is heated up to a certain tempera¬ 
ture, the albumen , which is one constituent, 
coagulates, and can be separated. At a still 
higher temperature, the coloring matter , which 
makes the redness of raw flesh, also coagu¬ 
lates, and is removed. The separation of 
these simplifies the compound. The remain¬ 
ing fluid is always of an acid character, show¬ 
ing that it contains, with its other ingredients, 
one or more acid substances, in a free or un¬ 
neutralized state. A part of the inquiry is to 
find what these acids are : accordingly, an 
alkali (baryta) is poured in to combine with 
and precipitate them. The precipitate is 
withdrawn and examined, and found to con¬ 
sist of phosphates, which phosphates have the 
double base of baryta and magnesia, which 
last, therefore, must have been present in the 
juice. It is thus shown that phosphoric acid 
is an essential constituent of the juice of 
muscle. 

The liquid that is freed from filtration from 
these precipitated phosphates is slowly evap¬ 
orated, until at last crystals, in the form of 
colorless needles, appear at the bottom. These 
crystals, when examined by cliymical tests, 
are found to be an entirely new substance, 
with distinct and specific properties, which 
Liebig has fully investigated ; and it has re¬ 
ceived the name of kreatine, from the Greek 
word for flesh. This kreatine, therefore, is 
an invariable constituent of the muscular 
fluid. Its amount in any animal is greatest 
when there is least fat; as fat accumulates, 
it diminishes. 

The physical properties of a substance are 
its specific gravity, texture, color, and ap¬ 
pearance. The cliymical properties are its I 


composition, or the proportions of its element¬ 
ary constituents, and its chymical action upon 
other bodies, such as acids, alkalies, and tests 
of all sorts. These properties Liebig has de¬ 
tailed in reference to the new substance, and 
by them a key will be found to its uses in the 
living body. 

The action of a strong acid on kreatine 
creates a second substance hitherto unknown 
to chymists, which is alkaline in its nature, 
called by Liebig /creatinine. This substance, 
however, may not only be produced from 
kreatine, but it is found in the system of an¬ 
other permanent constituent, and as such its 
properties deserve and have received a dis¬ 
tinct investigation. 

The original kreatine, resolved by an acid 
into kreatinine, is next resolved by baryta 
into two other elements, one of them urea , 
already well known; but the other is a com¬ 
pletely new substance of the alkaline charac¬ 
ter, named sarcosine , and apparently worthy 
of being studied. Here, therefore, from one 
crystralline deposite there arises three organic 
compounds , that have all something to do with 
human vitality. 

We are not yet done with the original 
liquid. After the crystals of kreatine are de¬ 
posited, there is a liquor still remaining. By 
adding alcohol to it, it is made to give a new 
deposite in white foliated crystals. These 
are separated by filtration, and examined, and 
yield a fourth new substance of an acid char¬ 
acter, called by Liebig inosinic acid. This 
is a very remarkable element. The flavor 
of the meat seems to reside in it: when it is 
acted on by a high heat, it gives off the very 
smell of roasting meat. 

Recurring again to the unexhausted mother 
liquid, and adding more alcohol, a new sep¬ 
aration takes place ; a thick sirupy substance 
falls to the bottom, and a lighter liquid floats 
above. The separate examination of these 
brings out additional elements. Here is found 
the kreatinine natural to the muscle. There 
is also now found lactate of potash ; and it 
turns out that lactic acid , or the acid of sour 
milk, is a constant element of muscular juice, 
as well as the phosphoric acid that came out 
at an earlier stage. The lactates of flesh re¬ 
ceive from Liebig a separate investigation. 

After settling the characters of these great 
organic constituents — kreatine, kreatinine, 
sarcosine, inosinic acid—and the compounds 
of lactic acid, he now turns to what are call¬ 
ed the inorganic elements, such as phosphoric 
acid, potash, and other alkalies, and founds a 
curious speculation upon the presence and 
mutual actions of the lactic and phosphoric 
acids. The great idea of the speculation is, 
that lactic acid is the substance that directly 
I supports respiration, or whose consumption 








RESEARCHES ON FOOD. 


143 


gives tlic animal heat; and that the sugar and 
starch taken in our food are changed into lac¬ 
tic acid, in order to become respiratory ele¬ 
ments. In fact, the use of sugar is to supply 
the lactic acid constituent, which has to serve 
this and other purposes in the body. Another 
very refined speculation is o lie red by the 
author, founded on the fact, that the alkali 
contained in the flesh is potash, and the alkali 
contained in the blood is soda. He shows 
how the chymical properties of phosphoric 
acid and soda, which go together in the blood, 
would explain the process whereby nature 
makes the exchange of carbonic acid for pure 
oxygen, in the final act of the respiratory 
process. 

These elements do not exhaust the con¬ 
stituents of muscle, and it will take much ad¬ 
ditional study to follow out all their functions 
in the human body. Moreover, muscle, al¬ 
though a very important tissue, is only one 
out of many : and it will be necessary to go 
through a similar examination of nerve and 
other tissues before the chymical actions in¬ 
volved in the animal system are fully known. 
But in the meantime, Liebig draws some verv 
important practical inferences from the dis¬ 
coveries already made. 

In the first place, he shows how the boiling 
of meat acts upon the various constituents of 
the juice. We require, for the support of our 
muscle, not merely the fibrous matter of ani¬ 
mal flesh, but all the array of the albumen, 
lactates, phosphates, kreatine, &c., already 
mentioned : if any of these are allowed to 
escape, we are deprived of some needful ele¬ 
ment, and our system suffers. Now, cold 
water can dissolve the great mass of these 
important ingredients, so that if meat is put 
into cold water, and slowly boiled up, the 
water will have carried off all the albumen 
and several other substances, and the remain¬ 
ing beef will be a kind of husk, insufficient 

O 

to nourish the system, unless the water it 
has been boiled in is taken at the same time 
in the form of soup. To boil beef without 
losing the nutritious and savory elements, 
Liebig gives the following directions: the 
water is, in the first place, to be put into a 
brisk boiling state; into this boiling water 
the meat should be plunged, and allowed to 
lie for a few minutes; it is then taken out, 
and cold water is to be poured into the boiler 
till the heat be reduced far below boiling, or 
to about 1G0 degrees ; the meat is then put in 
again, and kept in the water at this tempera¬ 
ture for two or three hours. Everything is 
in this way effected that can render the flesh 
pleasant and wholesome as food. The con¬ 
tact with the boiling water at the outset co¬ 
agulates the albumen of the flesh all round 
the surface of the meat, and closes up its pores 


with a solid wall, that none of the internal 
juices can pass through, and the meat is 
preserved in all its integrity while undergoing 
the action of the heat. 

On the other hand, when we wish to have 
a rich soup, we must take means for thorough¬ 
ly extracting the various elements of the 
fleshy juice, for these elements are the essen¬ 
tial portion of a soup. A perfect soup would 
be a mixture of all the soluble constituents 
of the muscle—in fact, Liebig’s original 
mother liquor, which he wrought upon to 
bring out all the various substances already 
enumerated. Accordingly, the plan of ma¬ 
king soup is as follows :— 

“When one pound of lean beef, free of 
fat, and separated from the bones, in the fine¬ 
ly-chopped state in which it is used for beef- 
sausages or mince-meat, is uniformly mixed 
with its own weight of cold water, slowly 
heated to boiling, and the liquid, after boiling 
briskly for a minute or two, is strained through 
a cloth from the coagulated albumen and the 
fibrine, now become hard and horny, we ob¬ 
tain an equal weight of the most aromatic 
soup, of such strength as can be obtained even 
by boiling for hours from a piece of flesh. 
When mixed with salt, and the other usual 
additions by which soup is usually seasoned, 
and tinged somewhat darker by means of 
roasted onions or burnt sugar, it forms the 
very best soup that can be prepared from one 
pound of flesh.” 

An extract of meat thus prepared is found 
to be an invaluable provision for an army in 
active service. Administered along with a 
little wine to wounded soldiers, it immediate¬ 
ly restores their strength, exhausted by loss 
of blood, and enables them to sustain the 
fatigue of removal to the nearest hospital. 

Of course what is so useful in this extreme 
case must be useful in thousands of minor 
occasions of bodily prostration. The loss of 
strength means the loss of the substances that 
support vitality, such as these very ingredients 
of fleshy juice. The fleshy fibre itself is 
wasted more slowly than the substances that 
float in the liquid that invests it; so that, in 
fact, a supply of these matters has a more 
instantaneous action than any other refresh¬ 
ment. We can thus explain the effect of 
soups upon convalescent patients. No doubt 
the perfect soup of Liebig’s description would 
be found to have a far greater strengthening 
power than the generality of those in com¬ 
mon use. 

There is one other principle of very great ; 
consequence stated. It is, that the gastric 
juice of the stomach, which dissolves the ' 
solid food into a liquid pulp, has nearly the 
same ingredients as the juice of flesh so.'that 
the power of digestion will be very much , 



































I- 

144 THE HINDOO SCHOLAR.—LYCURGUS. 


affected by the supply of the constituents of 
juice to the system. Hence a good flesh- 
extract soup, besides giving materials to the 
muscle, provides the solvent liquid of the 
stomach, and facilitates digestion. To people 
sufferin'! from indigestion in the sense of de- 
ficiency in the gastric juice, the supply of this 
material is the natural remedy. Another 
useful hint is also suggested by this connexion 
of stomach and muscle. The digestion of 
the food, and the exertion of the muscles, 
consume the same ingredients, so that both 
operations can not well be sustained together 
beyond a certain limit. Moreover, it natural¬ 
ly follows that rest during one operation will 
cause increase of energy in the other. Dur¬ 
ing the height of the digestive action, muscu¬ 
lar exertion can not well be afforded, unless 
there is a great overplus of the common ali¬ 
ment. It is well known that when digestion 
is weak, rest after meals is necessary, and 
that excessive exercise unfits the stomach for 
its work. The explanation now afforded may 
supply practical wisdom on this head to all 
men. 

Liebig has also pointed out the effect that 
the salting of meat has on the precious con¬ 
stituents of its juice. The salt withdraws a 
great portion of these dissolved matters, which 
are thrown away with the brine. The in¬ 
juriousness of a long course of salt provisions 
is thus distinctly accounted for. 

In these investigations, Liebig has made use 
of flesh derived from a great range of animals, 
and has determined the comparative richness 
of each in the various substances in question. 
He has tried the flesh of ox, roedeer, horse, 
hare, fox, fowls, fishes, &c. In this way he 
is likely to furnish, what has been sought for 
in vain by other methods, a comparison of 
the nutritive qualities of the different kinds 
of food. No man that understands the real 
difficulty of settling such a point, can put the 
slightest faith in any of the tables of the com¬ 
parative digestibility or nutritiveness of sub¬ 
stances that have hitherto been put forth in 
books of medicine or dietetics. 


THE HINDOO SCHOLAR. 

Our engraving represents one of those little 
girls in India who are receiving Christian ed- 
ucation in the female schools which have been 
established in that country. The engraving 
is taken from a portrait of one of the scholars 
attending the schools in Calcutta : she is rep¬ 
resented in the native female dress, which is 
called a “sarrie.” The sarrie is a long piece 
of white muslin, folded round the body and 


thrown over the head and shoulders. The 
book in her right hand shows that she is a 
scholar: the sight of a girl with a book in her 
hand, however common among us, was till 
lately very unusual in India. In her left hand 
she holds one of the work-bags sent out by 
the ladies of England as rewards for the best 
behaved girls. 

The contemplation of this subject, will sug¬ 
gest to every one some of the advantages to 
be derived from Christianizing India ; and we 
hope the time is not far distant, when schools 
in India will be as common as they are among 
us. Such a state of things would gladden 
the heart of every philanthropist, and would 
elevate and ennoble a people who only wants 
proper education and instruction to be great 
and good. 


LYCURGUS. 

No man ever more truly deserved the title 
of reformer, than did Lyeurgus, the Spartan 
lawgiver; and there have lived few men 
whose lives and actions were of a more inter¬ 
esting character. 

Lyeurgus flourished about 900 years before 
the Christian era, or about 2,700 years ago. 
As may be supposed, the incidents of his life 
are neither so numerous nor so well authen¬ 
ticated as would be desirable : but if there be 
doubts in regard to his personal history, there 
can be none in regard to the reforms he 
brought about, and the institutions he estab¬ 
lished. 

Lyeurgus is commonly believed to have 
been a son of Eunomus, of the royal house of 
Lacedsemon, but not in the line of direct suc¬ 
cession. The death of his brother appeared 
to give him a title to the crown; but his 
widow giving promise of an heir to the throne, 
Lyeurgus assumed the government as regent. 

The brother’s widow preferring the queen¬ 
ly dignity to that of queen-mother proposed 
to destroy the yet unborn heir to the throne 
of Sparta, and share the crowm with Lycur- 
gus. Stifling his indignation at such an in¬ 
famous proposal, he yielded a seeming as¬ 
sent ; but as procuring an abortion, though 
sometimes practised, was attended with se¬ 
rious danger to the health of the mother, Ly- 
curgus persuaded her to do no violence to the 
course of nature—since, if bom, the infant 
might be easily disposed of. 

As the time for the birth of the child drew 
nigh, Lyeurgus placed trusty attendants 
around the person of the queen, with orders 
to bring him the child, if it proved a son, as 
soon as born. This happened while he was 










# 



10 









































LYCURGUS. 


146 


sitting at table, with the magistrates of Sparta. 
The newborn prince was brought to him, and 
taking the infant in his arms, he immediately 
named it Charilaus, and proclaimed him king 
of Sparta—after which, as regent, he provided 
for his proper care and education. 

There was thus thrown upon this noble 
prince two great cares—the government of 
the realm as regent, and the protection of the 
lawful sovereign. With these cares came 
also a danger from which the sensitive soul 
of Lycurgus shrunk with dread. The life 
of this infant alone stood between him and 
the supreme power. If the child should die, 
he would doubtless be accused of its mur¬ 
der, from motives of ambition. 

Lycurgus resolved to avoid this danger, 
and do his country a great service at the same 
time. During the minority of the king, leav¬ 
ing the administration of the state in the hands 
of proper officers, he became a voluntary 
exile, travelling in various parts of Greece, 
in Egypt, and, if we believe in the historians, 
in India—for Egypt and India were, in the 
early ages of Greece, considered as the fount¬ 
ains of science and wisdom. 

During this exile, and these travels, Lycur¬ 
gus perfected a plan for the reformation of the 
institutions of his country, which, when Cha¬ 
rilaus, his -ward, had arrived at maturity, he 
returned to put in practice. And reforms 
were greatly needed. Sparta had fallen into 
a deplorable situation. 

The soil had become gradually monopolized 
by the rich landlords who lived in luxury, 
while the great mass of the people, being 
without land, were poor, oppressed, and de¬ 
graded; and were often in danger of starva¬ 
tion. Such an unnatural state of things ener¬ 
vated the rich, crushed down and dispirited 
the poor, provoked discontent, outrages, and 
rebellions, which produced despotism and tyr¬ 
anny, and threatened the entire ruin of the 
country. 

Writers have uniformly expressed astonish¬ 
ment that Lycurgus should have had suffi¬ 
cient power and influence to correct these great 
abuses in the state. But when it. is consider¬ 
ed that he w r as the uncle of the king; that he 
had governed the country as regent; that he 
was entitled to the gratitude of the sovereign 
and of the people, on account of the conduct 
we have narrated; and that, by his foreign 
travels and study, he had required the re¬ 
spect due to superior wisdom: and when, to 
these considerations, we add the fact that in 
common with all the reformers and legislators 
of past ages, he invoked the authority of re¬ 
ligion, we shall not be astonished at the re¬ 
sult of his efforts in remodeling the institu¬ 
tions of his country. We must consider, 
also, that the free citizens of Lacedaemon 


did not number more than two or three hun¬ 
dred thousand. 

Returning from the feet of the Bramins 
and the temples of Egypt, Lycurgus set him¬ 
self steadily at the great work of reform. 
First he visited the Delphic oracle, and the 
Spartans heard with veneration, a sentence 
they were already well disposed to believe— 
that Lycurgus, in wisdom, transcended the 
common level of humanity. He then se¬ 
cured a considerable party of the best citizens 
of Sparta, and though he met with an oppo¬ 
sition so violent as at times to threaten his 
life, his firmness and courage at length tri¬ 
umphed over every obstacle, and he estab¬ 
lished law r s and institutions for Sparta, which 
remained for many centuries, and which gave 
her great renown in all succeeding times. 

The first object was to reform the great and 
fundamental evil, the monopoly of wealth by 
a few, which necessarily reduced the great 
body of the people to extreme poverty. At 
a single blow, aided by the king, a senate 
which he had established, consisting of the 
most popular men in the state, and the voice 
of the people, Lycurgus destroyed the exist¬ 
ing titles to large tracts of land, vested in 
a few individuals, and the soil of Lacedasmon, 
as the property of the state, was divided 
among the people, and their rights in the soil 
were giiarded by such provisions that no fam¬ 
ily could be deprived of the means of sup¬ 
port. We are not particularly informed of 
the difficulties which attended this reform, 
but it made the way easy for every other. 

In the government, the office of king was 
retained. It was one of dignity and respect 
—but that was paid to the office, rather than 
the man. The monarch assumed none of the 
trappings or state of royalty—he dressed like 
the common people, and dined with them at 
the common public table. As commander-in¬ 
chief of the army he exercised the greatest 
authority. 

Thirty senators were chosen by a free 
election, which was curiously managed. Sev¬ 
eral judges v r ere placed in a room where they 
could hear but not see the whole assembly 
of the people. The candidates then present¬ 
ed themselves successively before the people, 
and he who got the greatest applause, the 
judges declared to be elected. 

The grand reform of a fair division of the 
soil among the people having been carried 
out, the artificial distinction of wealth was 
at once abolished, and poverty was unknown. 
The whole country looked, as Lycurgus him¬ 
self observed, like a heritage newly shared 
among many brethren. The removal of pov¬ 
erty and riches, in real estate, was made the 
more complete by banishing useless arts and 
luxuries, and even money—for Lycurgus 








LYCURGUS. 


established a currency of iron, which, while 
it served in so small a state the common pur¬ 
poses of a circulating medium, or measure of 
exchange, presented no temptation to hoard 
or accumulate. 

Let us look now at the customs and insti¬ 
tutions which this extraordinary man founded. 
The Spartan institutions w r ere pervaded by 
one principle. The citizen is born, lives, and 
is ready to die, for the state. His substance, 
time, strength, faculties, and affections, are 
dedicated to its service. Its welfare is his 
happiness, its glory, his honor. Patriotism 
was the Spartan’s leading virtue. 

When a child was born, he was not allow¬ 
ed to live if so weakly or deformed as not 
likely to be capable of performing all the 
duties of a citizen, and transmitting the full 
vigor of manhood to his posterity; and as 
much pains were taken to insure a good breed 
of men, as are now employed in improving 
the races of inferior animals. 

The infant, until the age of seven, was left 
to the care of its parents, under certain estab¬ 
lished rules of treatment, calculated to protect 
them from the mischievous indulgence of 
parental tenderness. 

At seven, they were sent to the public 
schools, which were under the superintend¬ 
ence of the elders, who were assisted by the 
picked young men of the nation. The edu¬ 
cation of the boys consisted of various gym¬ 
nastic and military exercises ; they were also 
taught music and dancing. The songs of the 
Spartans contained the greater part of their 
literature, their history, and perhaps their re¬ 
ligion. Their exercises were conducted with 
all the rigor of military discipline, and were 
such as to give them strength, energy, and 
the greatest powers of endurance. They 
were taught habitually to despise danger, to 
exercise caution, to endure fatigue, and to 
brave torture and death with unflinching 
fortitude. There has never been seen a finer 
race of men, gifted with more vigor, grace, 
and agility, than the Spartans; and they were 
consequently invincible as soldiers. 

From the time the young Spartan left the 
lap of his mother for the public schools, his 
life was a continued exercise for the develop¬ 
ment of Spartan qualities. He lived on 
coarse and scanty fare, and this was often 
withheld; he wore a thin dress in the depth 
of winter; slept on a bed of reeds, gathered 
by himself from the Eurotas; fought with 
his comrades; received stripes from his gov¬ 
ernors, as an exercise rather than a punish¬ 
ment ; foraged for himself, in spite of the 
vigilance used to prevent or detect him, and 
was known to die rather than discover his 
plunder, or submit to a public flogging at the 
shrine of Diana. 


147 


The cultivation of music, poetry, and a 
sharp and ready wit; and extreme modesty, 
obedience, and reverence for age, were the 
intellectual and moral characteristics of this 
nation. 

All the Spartans dined at public tables, to 
which each man sent his contribution of pro¬ 
visions. Men were admitted to these daily 
public feasts by ballot, requiring unanimous 
consent, and no one elected, not even the king, 
could dine at home without incurring a fine. 
These feasts were enlivened by pleasantry 
and mirth, but never profaned by impure con¬ 
versation. At the age of sixty, the military 
life closed ; and the aged men either employ¬ 
ed themselves in superintending the affairs 
of education, or passed their time pleasantly 
in social conversation. 

“Victory or death” was the Spartan’s 
watch-word. The Spartan mother sent her 
son to battle, with the injunction to bring his 
shield home, or be borne home upon it. No 
matter what the odds of numbers, the Spartan 
never turned his back to an enemy. He who 
did so was publicly disgraced—excluded from 
all society, and forced to wear in public a 
ridiculous costume, and be a mark for scorn and 
insult—a disgrace worse than death. 

Sparta was at all times like a camp—all 
her men were soldiers. War was the element 
in which the Spartan breathed most freely, 
and enjoyed the fullest consciousness of his 
existence. He dressed for battle as for a 
feast—he went into action singing martial 
songs, and with every appearance of gay en¬ 
thusiasm, as if joining in a public festival. 

The Spartan women were held in peculiar 
esteem, and enjoyed a degree of freedom and 
social consideration contrasting strongly with 
the general condition of the sex in the eastern 
world. Their education was intended to pro¬ 
mote the highest physical development, and 
to fit them to be mothers to heroes. The 
Spartan women were celebrated for chastity, 
and their matrons appeared seldom in public, 
but yet exercised a strong influence in all 
public affairs. 

The Spartans were very religious, and the 
luxuries they denied themselves, they lavished 
on the temples of the gods, and displayed in 
processions in their honor; for in no part of 
Greece were religious ceremonies more splen¬ 
did, or temples more magnificent. 

Such were the institutions and manners 
formed by Lycurgus. When he had seen 
them in fair and successful operation, in his 
old age, he told his assembled countrymen 
that there was yet one thing upon which he 
wished to consult the sacred and infallible 
oracle at Delphos; and he made them take 
a solemn oath to keep his laws until he re¬ 
turned to Sparta. Arrived at Delphos, he 










148 THE NESTS 


sent back word that the oracle had said that 
Sparta should be prosperous as long as her 
people observed his laws. Then, that the 
oath, taken at his departure, might bind them 
for ever, he determined never to return. 

Lycurgus died in exile; when and where 
is not known; though it is said that he ended 
his life by voluntary starvation. 


THE NESTS OF FISHES, 

Almost all the higher classes of animals, 
assiduously perform the duties of parents to 
their young. They nurse, and feed, and pro¬ 
tect them till they are able to provide for 
themselves. But many of the inferior ani¬ 
mals, on the other hand, never know or care 
for their offspring. Not a few of them indeed, 
as the insect tribe, bestow great pains in con¬ 
structing nests for the eggs of their future 
young, and even provide and store up the food 
necessary for them ; but here all their solici¬ 
tude ends ; and in many instances the parents 
are dead, before their young come into exist¬ 
ence. Aquatic animals exhibit, what on a 
casual view, would appear great carelessness 
in this respect. Fish deposite their spawn al¬ 
most at random, and leave their ova to be 
hatched by the elements, and their young to 
provide for themselves. They form no nest, 
or a very rude one—the sand of the seashore, 
the small pebbles of the river or lake, or 
leaves of plants, or sea-weeds, receive their 
minute eggs. These are hurriedly and rude¬ 
ly covered up, if deposited in furrows of the 
sand, or they adhere to stones or weeds, by 
means of a gluey mucilage by which they are 
enveloped. When the young fry are devel¬ 
oped, they associate together in shoals, and 
roam about amid the shallow waters untended 
and unprotected by the larger fish, nay, some¬ 
times even prej^ed upon by their own progen¬ 
itors. This we might be apt to think extreme 
indifference, and an outrage on the great law 
of paternal endearment; but a little reflection 
will show that it is a wise adjustment of na¬ 
ture. In such an unstable element as water, 
continually agitated by currents and incessant¬ 
ly changing its place, it would have been im¬ 
possible for a parent fish, to have kept its 
young family around it, or even if it could, to 
have afforded them any protection. Think 
too, of a codfish surrounded by several mil¬ 
lions of its young—the offspring of one single 
season ! Or of an immense shoal of herrings, 
with each parent taking charge of its two or 
three millions of young, and distinguishing 
each among the surrounding myriads ! The 
salmon comes into fresh-water rivers to depos- 


OF FISHES. 


ite its spawn high up the stream; but its na¬ 
ture requires that it should return to the ocean 
again long before its young are able to travel: 
and the same remark applies to many migra¬ 
tory fishes, which leave the deep waters— 
their usual haunt—and come for a short space 
to the shallow water to spawn. 

Yet fishes, obedient to the great law of na¬ 
ture, show much solicitude about selecting 
the proper place for their spawn and future 
young. Every year the herring in countless 
shoals makes a long journey, it is supposed, 
from the deep seas, to the shallow bays and 
inlets; and the salmon leaves the sea, toils up 
the current of the river with incredible perse¬ 
verance and force, overleaping the falls and 
rapids, till it gains the smooth and shallow 
source where, amid the sand, the spawn is de¬ 
posited, and where the future young may 
sport in safety amid the sunny rills, till they 
gain sufficient strength to swim down the 
stream. Some fishes, however, really make 
a kind of nest in the water, and assiduously 
tend their ova till they are hatched. This is 
the case with the stickleback, which con¬ 
structs a nest made of pieces of grass, and 
straw, fixed among the pebbles of the stream 
which they inhabit. M. Coste procured some 
of these fishes, and putting them into basins 
filled with water, and the proper materials of 
their nests, watched their progress, a min¬ 
ute and very curious detail of which he lately 
submitted to the Academy of Sciences at 
Paris. The sticklebacks having selected a 
proper spot, set about constructing their nests. 
“I saw,” says he, “ each of the males that 
were engaged in this work, heap up in the 
place, the selected pieces of grass of every 
kind, which he often brought from a great dis¬ 
tance, seizing them with his mouth; and of 
these he began to form a kind of carpet. But 
as the materials which form the first part of 
his edifice might be carried away by the move¬ 
ments, or oscillation of the water, he had the 
precaution to bring some sand, with which he 
filled his mouth, and deposited it on the nest, 
in order to keep it in its place. Then, in or¬ 
der to make all the substances thus brought 
together adhere to each other, he pressed his 
body against them, sliding slowly, as if by a 
kind of vibratory creeping, and in this way 
glued them together by means of the mucus 
which exudes from his skin. By this opera¬ 
tion, the first collected materials form a kind 
of foundation or solid floor, on which the rest 
of the edifice is to be reared. The execution 
of this, he continues with a feverish perseve¬ 
rance and agitation. In order to satisfy him¬ 
self that all the parts are sufficiently united, 
he agitates his pectoral fins with great rapid¬ 
ity, in such a manner as to produce currents 
directed against the nest; and if he notices 











THE LAMA. 


149 


that the pieces of grass are moved, he presses 
them down with his snout, heaps sand upon 
them, flattens them, and glues them together 
again. When the process has reached this 
point, he chooses more solid materials—he 
seizes small pieces of wood or straws in his 
mouth, and presses them into the thick places, 
or on the surface of the first construction. If 
he finds, when attempting to introduce them, 
that the position does not sufficiently answer 
the purpose, he draws them out again, seizes 
them at another part, again inserts them, and 
pushes them forward, until he ascertains that 
he has made the best possible use of them. 
Occasionally, however, in spite of all his care, 
there are portions which owing to tlieir shape, 
will not conform to the general plan. These 
he draws out, carries to a distance, and aban¬ 
dons, and proceeds to select others. When 
he has succeeded in building the floor, and 
side-walls, he then undertakes the roof, which 
is constructed of the same materials, carefully 
glued and compacted together, by the same 
vibratory pressure of his body. Meanwhile 
he takes care to secure an opening in the cen¬ 
tre of the nest, by repeatedly thrusting in his 
head, and the greater part of his body.” The 
nest being thus finished, the male, which is 
distinguished by his vivid coloring, darts out 
and invites a female to deposite her eggs in the 
place which he has just prepared for their re¬ 
ception. The female enters, and having de¬ 
posited her ova in the cavity, darts out at the 
opposite side at which she entered, and thus 
makes an open passage through both sides of 
the nest. Several females in succession are 
thus invited to deposite their spawn ; and thus 
the nest becomes a rich magazine of ova. 
The male now becomes the sole guardian of 
this deposite ; for not only do the females take 
no care of it, but they become its formidable 
enemies—forming part of those numerous co¬ 
alitions which attempt to plunder it, and satis¬ 
fy their voracious appetite, by devouring the 
ova. In his defensive exertions, no obstacle 
can divert him, or daunt his courage, during 
the whole month requisite for the develop¬ 
ment of the ova. In order to strengthen the 
nest, he now covers it with stones, the size of 
which is sometimes equal to half his body, 
and which he moves along with great labor. 
In this process he always reserves one or 
more openings, through which he often drives 
currents of water, by the rapid motions of his 
fins—these currents seem to be necessary in 
clearing away objects from the eggs, for if not 
thus cleansed, they are found all to perish. 
It is wonderful to see with what courage he 
beats away successive numbers of his foes, 
striking them with his snout, and erecting his 
long sharp spines. Sometimes, when about 
to be overpowered with numbers, he resorts 


to stratagem, and darts suddenly out of his 
nest, as if in pursuit of some prey. This fre¬ 
quently deceives the attacking sticklebacks, 
and they rush after him, in hopes of sharing 
the prey ; and thus they are decoyed from the 
nest. As the period of hatching draws to a 
close, his assiduity increases ; he removes the 
stones, to give more easy access to the water, 
enlarges the openings, increases the frequency 
of the currents, and moves the eggs nearer the 
surface, or carries them deeper, according as 
circumstances require. Finally, when the 
eggs are hatched, he still continues to watch 
over the young in his nest, and does not allow 
them to go at liberty, till they have become 
sufficiently active to provide the means of 
their own preservation. 


THE LAMA. 

The lama is the only animal associated 
with man, and undebased by the contact. 
The lama will bear neither beating nor ill- 
treatment. They go in troops, an Indian go¬ 
ing a long distance ahead as a guide. If 
tired, they stop, and the Indian stops also. If 
the delay is great, the Indian, becoming un¬ 
easy toward sunset, resolves on supplicating 
the beasts to resume their journey. If the 
lamas are disposed to continue their course, 
they follow the Indian in good order, at a 
regular pace, and very fast, for their legs are 
extremely long; but when they are in ill- 
humor, they do not even turn their heads 
toward the speaker, but remain motionless, 
standing or lying down, and gazing on heaven 
with looks so tender, so melancholy, that we 
might imagine these singular animals had the 
consciousness of another life, of a happier ex¬ 
istence. The straight neck, and its gentle 
majesty of bearing, the long down of their 
always clean and glossy skin, their supple 
and timed motions, all give them an air, 
at once timid and sensitive. It must be so 
in fact, for the lama is the only creature 
employed by man, that he dares not strike. 
If it happens (which is very seldom), that an 
Indian wishes to obtain, either by force or 
threats, what the lama will not willingly per¬ 
form, the instant the animal finds himself 
affronted by words or gesture, he raises his 
head with dignity, or without attempting to 
escape ill-treatment by flight, he lies down, 
turning his looks toward Heaven, large tears 
flow freely from his beautiful eyes, and in 
half or three quarters of an hour, he expires. 
Happy creatures, who appear to have accept¬ 
ed life on condition of its being happy. 











TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 


150 


TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND.-N 0 .4. 

BY HARRIET MARTINEAU. 

We made an excursion from Jerusalem, to 
the Jordan and the Dead sea ; going by way 
of Bethany and Jericho, and returning by the 
convent of St. Saba. There is at this day, 
so much danger of falling among thieves, in 
going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, that 
travellers join parties when they can, and 
unite their guards into a corps of armed men. 
Our own party of four, joined the ten with 
whom we had travelled in the desert: and 
four strangers—European gentlemen—re¬ 
quested permission to ride with us. Thus we 
were eighteen: and the dragomen, cooks, 
horsekeepers, and mule-drivers, who took 
charge of our tents and baggage, and ten armed 
guards, swelled our number to that of a cara¬ 
van which no robbers were likely to attack. 
Indeed we scarcely saw anybody the whole 
way. The dangerous part of the road ap¬ 
peared deserted, and the plain of Jericho, once 
studded with towns, and filled with fertility, 
lay before us almost as lifeless as the basin of 
the Dead sea. 

We left Jerusalem by St. Stephen’s gate, 
—my three friends, myself, and our servants 
and bafro-acre, and met the rest of the travel- 
ling party at the bridge, in the valley of Je- 
lioshaphat, at 9 A. M. We proceeded by the 
camel road to Bethany, which winds up the 
side of Olivet, and crosses its ridge to the east. 
As soon as we had passed the ridge, Bethany 
came in view, lying on the eastern slope of 
the mount of Olives, and, as we all know, 
“ fifteen furlongs” distance from Jerusalem. 
It is now a village inhabited by about twenty 
families ; a very poor place ; but looking less 
squalid than might be expected, from its 
houses being built, as everywhere in that 
country, of stone—square, substantial, and 
large, compared with cottages in England. 
Its position on the side of the hill is very fine, 
seen from below. 

Before descending the hill, however, we 
alighted from our horses to visit an old tomb, 
which is called the tomb of Lazarus. No en¬ 
lightened traveller believes this to be really 
the place where Lazarus was buried : but to 
see any ancient tomb on that spot, was an 
opportunity not to be missed ; and we gladly 
w'ent down the dark rock-hewn steps, to the 
little chamber, where some corpse had once 
been laid. I have often wished that the old 
painters had enjoyed such opportunities; and 
then we should have had representations of 
Lazarus coming forth from chambers in the 
rock, and not rising from such a grave as is 
dug in European churchyards. The lime¬ 
stone rocks of Judea, are full of holes and cav¬ 


erns ; and we know from the Scriptures how 
abundantly these were used by the old inhab¬ 
itants, as dwellings for themselves and their 
cattle, as a shelter to the wayfarer, a refuge 
to the fugitive, a hiding-place for robbers, and 
a place of deposite for the dead. Where a 
cavern was found with holes or recesses in its 
sides, a little labor, would make it an exten¬ 
sive place of burial. By squaring the entrance, 
and giving some regularity to the arch of the 
roof, a handsome vestibule was obtained ; and 
then the recesses were hewn into form for the 
reception of bodies. Sometimes these reces¬ 
ses had pits ; sometimes niches in their walls, 
so that each recess would contain several bod¬ 
ies : and sometimes they were small, so as to 
contain only one each. Sometimes the vesti¬ 
bule opened out into passages, which had re¬ 
cesses on each hand ; so that a large company 
of the dead might lie hidden in the heart of 
the mountain. The whole was secured from 
wild beasts and other intrusion, by a stone 
door fitted to the entrance, or a large block 
rolled up against it. Those who have seen 
these Eastern tombs can never again be puz¬ 
zled, as I was in my childhood, when reading 
of “ the chambers of the grave,” and of the 
dead calling to one another in the house of 
death, and of the stone being rolled away from 
the mouth of the sepulchre. Many a child 
wonders, as I did, how the way was made 
clear for Lazarus to come forth, merely by 
the removal of a stone : but, once having stood 
looking in at the door of a sepulchre, how viv¬ 
id becomes the picture of Jesus standing there, 
and calling to Lazarus with “ aloud voice,” to 
come forth ! How one hears that voice echo¬ 
ing through the chambers of the tomb, and 
sees the dead man in his cerements appear¬ 
ing from the steps of the vault, or the shadow 
of the recess! 

In the tomb which we explored at Bethany, 
the vaults went down a considerable way, in¬ 
to the rock. One flight of deep, narrow steps 
led us into a small vaulted chamber; and two 
or three or more steps, narrower still, into the 
lowest tomb, which had little more than room 
for one body. The monks, when taken as 
guides, show in the village, what they call 
the house of Martha and Mary, and that of 
Simon the Leper : but we did not inquire for 
these, having no wish to mix up anything fab¬ 
ulous, with our observations of a place so in¬ 
teresting as Bethany. 

We looked back upon the village again and 
again, as we descended into the valley; and 
it was painful to lose sight of the place where 
Jesus was wont to go to solace himself with 
the friendship of Lazarus and his sisters, and 
rest from the conflicts which beset him in the 
great city over yonder ridge. But we are now 
on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho, and 




































152 


TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 


Ruins of Jericho. 



about to pass among tlie fastnesses of the 
thieves, who seem to have infested this region 
in all times. After riding along the valley, 
sometimes on the one hill and sometimes on 
the other, for three or four miles, we left be¬ 
hind us the scanty tillage spread along the bot¬ 
tom of the valley, and began to ascend to the 
hollow way which is considered the most dan¬ 
gerous spot of all. Here Sir Frederick Hen- 
niker was stripped and left for dead, by rob¬ 
bers in 1820. His servants fled and hid them¬ 
selves on the first alarm. When they return¬ 
ed, he was lying naked and bleeding in the 
sultry road. They put him on a horse, and 
carried him to Jericho, where he found suc¬ 
cor. Perhaps he was thinking of the parable 
of the Samaritan when this accident befell him. 
I was thinking of it most of the way. 

Another story was presently after full in my 
mind ;—a beautiful catholic legend which was 
told me by a German friend in America, when 
I little dreamed of ever travelling over this 
spot. Our road now gradually ascended the 
high ridge from which we were soon to over¬ 
look the plain of Jericho. The track was so 
stony and difficult, as to make our progress 
very slow: and the white rocks under the 
mid-day sun gave out such heat and glare as 
made me enter more thoroughly into the story 
of Peter and the cherries, than my readers 
can perhaps do. And yet the many to whom 
I have told the legend in conversation have all 
felt its beauty. It is this. 

Jesus and two or three of his disciples went 
down, one summer-day, from Jerusalem to 
Jericho. Peter—the ardent and eager Peter 
—was, as usual, by the Teacher’s side. On 


the road on Olivet lay a horseshoe, which the 
Teacher desired Peter to pick up : but which 
Peter let lie, as he did not think it worth the 
trouble of stooping for. The Teacher stooped 
for it, and exchanged it in the village for a 
measure of cherries. These cherries he car¬ 
ried (as eastern men now carry such things) 
in the bosom-folds of his dress.* When they 
had to ascend the ridge, and the road lav be¬ 
tween heated rocks, and over rugged stones, 
and among glaring white dust, Peter became 
tormented with heat and thirst, and fell behind. 
Then the Teacher dropped a ripe cherry at 
every few steps ; and Peter eagerly stooped 
for them. When all were done, Jesus turned 
to him, and said with a smile, “ He who is 
above stooping to a small thing, will have to 
bend his back to many lesser things.” 

From the ridge we had a splendid view of 
the plain of the Jordan—apparently as fiat as 
a table to the very foot of the Moab mount¬ 
ains, while the Dead sea lay, a blue and mo¬ 
tionless expanse, to the right—(the south)— 
and barren mountains enclosed the whole. 
The nearer mountains were rocky, brown, and 
desolate, with here and there the remains of 
an aqueduct, or other ancient buildings mark¬ 
ing the sites of settlements which have passed 
away. The distant mountains were clothed 
in the soft and lovely hues which can be seen 
only through a southern atmosphere. The 
plain was once as delicious a region as ever 
men lived in. Josephus calls it a “ divine re- 

* “ Give and it shall be given unto you; good 
measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and 
running over, shall men give into your bosom.’'— 
Luke vi. 38. 








































The Plain of Jericho. 












































































































































































gion ;” and tells of its miles of gardens and 
palm-groves: and here grew the balsam 
which was worth more than its weight in sil- 
ver, and was a treasure for which the kings 
of the East made war. Jericho is called in 
the Scriptures the city of palm-trees; and 
Jericho was but one of a hundred towns 
which peopled the plain. Now, all near was 
barren; and equally bare was the distant tract 
at the foot of the mountains ; but in the midst 
was a strip of verdure, broad, sinuous, and 
thickly wooded, where we knew that the Jor¬ 
dan flowed. The palms are gone; and the 
sycamores, and the honey which the wild bees 
made in the hollows of their stems. The 
balsam which Queen Cleopatra so coveted as 
to send messengers from Egypt for plants to 
grow at Heliopolis, has disappeared from the 
face of the earth; and, instead of these, and the 
fruits and sugar-canes which were renowned 
in far countries, we find now little but tall 
reeds, thorny acacias, and trees barren of blos¬ 
som or fruit. The verdant strip, however, 
looks beautiful from afar, and shows that the 
fertility of the plain has not departed. There 
is enough for the support and luxury of man, 
were man but there to wish for and enjoy 
them. 

We descended by a road, like an irregular 
staircase, the steepest hill I ever rode down. 
The gentlemen dismounted; but the heat was 
so excessive that I ventured to keep my seat. 
When I glanced up from the bottom, and saw 


the last of the party beginning the descent, it 
looked so fearful that I was glad to turn away. 
We were now at the foot of the mountain 
called Quarantania, supposed by the monks 
to be the scene of the Temptation. A few 
pilgrims come from afar, every year, to spend 
forty days on this mountain, barely supporting 
life during the time by the herbs they find 
there. I need hardly say that there can be 
no good reason for fixing on this mountain as 
the place, and that the choice of it is proba¬ 
bly owing to its commanding the plain of the 
Jordan and its cities—once no unfair speci¬ 
men of the “ kingdoms of the earth, and the i 
glory of them.” The caverns in the face of 
this mountain, once used as dwellings or tombs, 
are now the abodes of robbers. When some 
of our party showed a desire to reach the low¬ 
er ones, the Arab sheikh who was responsi¬ 
ble for the safety of our party, drew his sword 
across his throat, to show the danger, and 
barred the way. 

It may be remembered, that the men of 
Jericho complained to Elisha the prophet, that 
the water of their spring was not good, either 
to drink, or to water their land for tillage 
(2 Kings : ii. 19), and that though their city 
was pleasant, they could not enjoy it for this 
reason : and that Elisha purified the spring, 
“so that the waters were healed unto this 
day.” Beside this spring, now called Ain 
Sultan, we encamped in the afternoon, and 
found its waters truly delicious. Nothing 


154 


TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 


The River Jordan. 



























































































TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 155 


could be prettier than this encampment, in a 
spot so forest-like as to contrast strongly with 
all we had seen for many weeks past. Our 
tent was close upon the brink of the clear 
rushing brook : but the heat was so excessive 
that we could not endure the tent, and had 
our dinner table placed under a tree, whose 
roots were washed by the stream. Broad 
lights glanced upon the rippling waters, and 
deep green shadows lay upon its pools. Our 
horses were feeding in the thicket beyond : 
and the Arabs sat in groups near the tents. 
Other parties of our company were dining or 
lying on the brink of the stream. Every en¬ 
campment of travellers in these places is beau¬ 
tiful ; but I never but once saw one so beau¬ 
tiful as this. After a walk to the remains of 
an aqueduct, and other traces (mere traces) of 
former habitation in the days when Jericho 
was a great city, I went, with one companion, 
to see the spring, which was but a short way 
from our tents. The water bubbled up from 
under some bushes, and spread itself clear and 
shallow, among some squared stones, which 
seemed to show that the source had once been 
enclosed. By this time it was dusk : the even¬ 
ing star hung above the nearest hill. All was 
silent about us, except the rustle and dip of 
the boughs which hung above the water. My 
companion and I found the temptation to bathe 
quite irresistible. Under the shadow of a 
large overhanging tree there was a pool deep 
enough for the purpose, and there we bathed, 
rejoicing with the people of Jericho in the 
sweetness of the water. 

The eastern traveller feels a strong incli¬ 
nation to bathe in every sacred sea, river, and 
spring. How great the interest is, and how 
like that of a new baptism, those at home may 
not be able to imagine ; and such may despise 
the superstition which leads hundreds of pil¬ 
grims every year to rush into the Jordan. 
But, among all the travellers who visit the 
Jordan, is there one, however far removed 
from superstition, who is willing to turn away 
without having bowed his head in its sacred 
waters ? 

There was no moon to-night: but the stars 
were glorious when I came out of our tent to 
take one more look before retiring to rest. 
Here and there the watch-fires cast yellow 
gleams on the trees and waters: but there 
were reaches of the brook, still and cool, 
where the stars glittered like fragments of 
moonlight. This day stands in my journal 
as one of the most delicious of our travels. 

In the early morning, about five o’clock, I 
ascended a steep mound near our encampment, 
and saw a view as different from that of the 
preceding day, as a change of lights could 
make it. The sun had not risen ; but there 
was a hint of its approach, in a gush of pale 


light behind the Moab mountains. The strip 
of woodland in the middle of the plain looked 
black in contrast with the brightening yellow 
precipices of Quarantaniaon the west. South¬ 
ward, the Dead sea stretched into the land, 
gray and clear. Below me, our tents and 
horses, and the moving figures of the Arabs, 
enlivened the shadowy banks of the stream. 

We were oil soon after six, and were to 
reach the banks of the Jordan in about two 
and a half hours. Our way lay through the 
same sort of forest-land as we had encamped 
in. It was very wild ; and almost the only 
tokens of habitation that we met with, were 
about Ribhah—by some supposed to be the 
exact site of the ancient Jericho. This is now 
as miserable a village as any in Palestine ; and 
its inhabitants are as low in character as in 
wealth. No stranger thinks of going near it 
who is not well armed. Yet there is need to 
resort to no means but honest and very mod¬ 
erate industry, to obtain a comfortable sub¬ 
sistence here—if only honesty were encour¬ 
aged, and industry protected by a good social 
state. The fine fig-trees that are scattered 
around, and the abundant promise of the few 
crops that are sown, show that the soil and 
climate are not to blame. At this place there 
is a square tower, conspicuous afar above the 
trees, which some suppose to be the sole rem¬ 
nant of the great city : but it can hardly be 
ancient enough to have belonged to the old 
Jericho. 

On a hillock in the midst of the brushwood, 
we saw a few birds of such size, that one of 
the party in a moment of forgetfulness, cried 
out “ ostriches !” There are no ostriches in 
this country; but these cranes looked very 
like them, while on their feet. One by one 
they rose, stretching out their long legs behind 
them—certainly the largest birds I ever saw 
fly—or probably shall ever see. 

Though we had been told, and had read, 
that the river could not be seen till the travel¬ 
ler reached its very banks, we could not help 
looking for it. Three broad terraces have to 
be traversed ; and then it is sunk in a deep 
bed, where it rushes hidden among the wood¬ 
land. Its depth of water varies much at dif¬ 
ferent seasons ; though less now than former¬ 
ly. The Scriptures speak so much of the 
overflow of Jordan; and of the lion coming 
up at the swelling of Jordan, that it is sup¬ 
posed that formerly the river was subject 
to inundations which may have formed the 
three terraces abovementioned, and caused the 
extraordinary fertility of the plain in old times: 
and that the wild beasts which then harbored 
in the brakes, came up to terrify the dwellers 
in the fields. However this may have been 
it is not so now. The channel is no doubt 
deepened; and the river now in the fullest 









TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 


156 


season, only brims over its banks into the 
brakes, so as to stand among the canes, and 
never reaches the terraces. 

Though we were all on the lookout, and 
though we reached the river at the spot which 
is cleared for the approach of the Easter pil¬ 
grims, we could not see the water till we could 
almost touch it. The first notice to me of 
where it was, was from some of the party dis¬ 
mounting on the Pilgrims’ beach—When I 
came up—O ! how beautiful it was !—how 
much more beautiful than all pictures and all 
descriptions had led me to expect! The only 
drawback was that the stream was turbid ;— 
not only whitish, from a sulphurous admixture 
but muddy. But it swept nobly along, with 
a strong and rapid current, and many eddies, 
gushing through the thick woodland and flow¬ 
ing in among the tall reeds, now smiting the 
white rocks of the opposite shore, and now 
winding away out of sight, behind the pop¬ 
lars and acacias and tall reeds which crowd 
its banks. It is not a broad river; but it is full 
of majesty from its force and loveliness. The 
vigorous, up-springing character of the wood 
along its margin, struck me much; and we 
saw it now in its vivid Spring green. 

The pilgrims rush into the sacred river in 
such numbers, and with so little precaution as 
to the strength of the current, that no year 
passes without some loss of life ; and usually 
several perish. This year only one was 
drowned. Whatever superstition there might 
have been among our company, it was not of 
this wild sort; and we bathed in safety. The 
ladies went north ; the gentlemen south. I 
made a way through the thicket with difficul¬ 
ty, till I found a little cove which the current 
did not enter, and over which hung a syca¬ 
more, whose lower branches were washed by 
the ripple, which the current sent in as it 
passed. On these branches the bather might 
stand or sit, without touching the mud, which 
lay soft and deep below. The limestone pre¬ 
cipice and wooded promontory opposite, made 
the river particularly beautiful here ; and sor¬ 
ry I was to leave it at last. 

It is useless to attempt to make out where 
the baptism of Jesus took place, or where his 
disciples and John administered the rite. And 
on the spot one has no pressing wish to know. 
The whole of this river is so sacred and so 
sweet that it is enough to have saluted it in 
any part of its course. 

The belt of woodland soon turned away 
eastward, and we found ourselves exposed to 
extreme heat, on a desolate plain crusted with 
salt and cracked with drought. There had 
been a closeness and muskiness in the air all 
the morning, which was very oppressive ; and 
now it was at our usual slow pace almost in¬ 
tolerable. I put my horse to a fast canter, 


and crossed the plain as quickly as possible, 
finding this pace a relief to my horse as well 
as myself. The drift on the beach of the sea 
looked dreary enough ; ridges of broken canes 
and willow twigs, washed up, and lying among 
the salt and the little unwholesome swamps of 
the shore ; but the water looked bright and 
clear, and so tempting, that our horses put 
their noses down repeatedly, always turning 
away in disgust. I tasted the water—about 
two drops—and I almost thought I should nev¬ 
er get the taste out of my mouth again. And 
this is the water that poor Costigan’s coffee 
was made of! 

Costigan was a young Irishman, whose 
mind was possessed with the idea of explo¬ 
ring the Dead sea, and giving the world the 
benefit of his discoveries. It would have been 
a useful service; and he had zeal and devo¬ 
tedness enough for it. But he wanted either 
knowledge or prudence ; and he lost his life 
in the adventure, without having left us any 
additional information whatever. He had a 
small boat carried overland by camels; and 
in this he set forth (in an open boat in the 
month of July !) with only one attendant, a 
Maltese servant. They reached the south¬ 
ern end of the lake—not without hardship and 
difficulty; but the fatal struggle was in get¬ 
ting back again. The wind did not favor them, 
and once blew such a squall that they had to 
lighten the boat, when the servant stupidly 
threw overboard the only cask of fresh water 
that they had. They were now compelled 
to row for their lives, to reach the Jordan be¬ 
fore they perished with thirst; but the sun 
scorched them from a cloudless sky, and the 
air was like a furnace. When Costigan could 
row no longer, his servant made some coffee 
from the water of the lake, and then they lay 
down in the boat to die. But the man once 
more roused himself, and by many efforts 
brought the boat to the head of the lake. 
They lay helpless for a whole day on the 
burning shore, unable to do more than throw 
the salt water over each other from time to 
time. The next morning, the servant crawled 
away, in hopes of reaching Ribhah, which he 
did with extreme difficulty. He sent Costi¬ 
gan’s horse down to the shore, with a supply 
of water. He was alive, and was carried to 
Jerusalem in the coolness of the night. He 
was taken care of in the Latin convent there ; 
but he died in two days. Not a note rela¬ 
ting to his enterprise was ever found ; and du¬ 
ring his illness he never spoke on the subject. 
Any knowledge that he might have gained, 
has perished with him ; and no reliable infor¬ 
mation could be obtained from his servant. 
Costigan’s grave is in the American burying- 
ground ; and there I saw the stone which teils 
his melancholy story. He died in 1835. 








There appears to be no satisfactory evi¬ 
dence, as to whether any fish are to be found 
in the Dead sea. Our guides said, that some 
small black-fish have been seen there ; but 
others deny this. A dead fish has been found 
on the shore, near the spot where the Jordan 
enters the lake ; but this might have been cast 
up by the overflow of the river. It is said, 
that small birds do not fly over this lake, on 
account of the deleterious nature of its atmo¬ 
sphere. About small birds^ I can not speak ; 
but I saw two or three vultures winging their 
way down it obliquely. The curious lights 
which hung over the surface, struck me as 
showing an unusual state of the atmosphere 
—the purple musky light resting on one part, 
and the line of silvery refraction in another. 
Though the sky was clear after the morning 
clouds had passed away, the sunshine appeared 
dim; and the heat was very oppressive. The 
gentlemen of the party who stayed behind to 
bathe declared, on rejoining us at lunch-time, 
that they had found the common report of the 
buoyancy of the water of this sea, not at all 
exaggerated, and that it was indeed an easy 
matter to float in it, and very difficult to sink. 
They also found their hair and skin powdered 
with salt when dry. But they could not ad¬ 
mit the greasiness or stickiness which is said 
to adhere to the skin after bathing in the Dead 
sea. They were very positive about this; 
and they certainly did observe the fact very 
carefully. Yet I have seen since my return, 
a clergyman who bathed there, and who de¬ 
clared to me that his skin was so sticky for 
some days after, that he could not get rid of 
it, even from his hands. And the trustworthy 
Dr. Robinson, a late traveller there, says: 
“ After coming out, I perceived nothing of the 
salt crust upon the body, of which so many 
speak. There was a slight pricking sensa¬ 
tion, especially where the skin had been cha¬ 
fed ; and a sort of greasy feeling, as of oil, 
upon the skin which lasted for several hours.” 
The contrast of these testimonies, and the di¬ 
versity which exists among the analyses of 
the waters which have been made by chym- 
ists, seem to show that the quality of the wa¬ 
ters of the Dead sea varies. And it appears 
reasonable that it should ; for it must make a 
great difference, whether fresh waters have 
been pouring into the basin of the lake, after 
the winter rains, or a great evaporation has 
been going on, under the summer’s sun. In 
following the margin of the sea, we had to 
cross a creek, where my skirt was splashed. 
These splashes turned presently to thin crusts 
of salt; and the moisture and stickiness were 
as great a week afterward as at the moment. 

We wound among salt marshes and brakes, 
in and out on the desolate shore of this sea— 
this sea which is not the less dead and dreary 


for being as clear and blue as a fresh mount¬ 
ain tam. As we ascended the ranges of hills 
which lay between us and the convent where 
we were to rest, the Jordan valley opened 
northward, and the Dead sea southward, till 
the extent traversed by the eye, was really 1 
vast. How beautiful must it have been once, 1 
when the Jordan valley, whose verdure was 
now shrunk into a black line amid the sands, 
was like an interminable garden; and when 
the “cities of the plain,” stood bright and 
busy, where the Dead sea now lay blank and 
gray ! As I took my last look back, from a 
great elevation, I thought that so mournful a 
landscape, for one having real beauty, I had 
never seen. 


CULTIVATION OF THE MIND. 

It has sometimes been thought that the 
cultivation of the mind would be an injury to 
those who obtain their livelihood by manual 
labor; that supposing every man, be his oc¬ 
cupation what it may, were to have his mind 
highly cultivated, it would render him uneasy 
in his lot. Nothing can be wider from the 
truth. A single word will explain it—and 
that is, that as you raise men toward equality 
in intellect and education, you bring them 
nearer actual equality—and the distinctions 
of property and occupation will sink away to 
nothing. Was Washington any less respect¬ 
ed when he became a practical farmer, than 
when at the head of the nation ? No culti¬ 
vated, intellectual man, can be degraded by 
his employment. It is the mind that makes 
the man, and that makes one man equal to 
another; and if we were to solve the problem, 
how to make a whole community contented; 
we would raise them as near to an equality 
in education as possible. The two best-edm- 
cated nations on the face of the earth, are* it 
is supposed, Denmark and the United States. 
The government of the one is despotism^ and 
that of the other, its opposite, republicanism. 
And yet the inhabitants of these two countries 
are probably the best contented of any in the 
world. 

An educated mind has so many resources 
within itself, that it has not to depend upon 
outward circumstances for happiness. A 
man with a cultivated intellect would feel 
neither disgrace nor uneasiness to have you 
find him at the anvil; nor would you, if you 
had a mind rightly educated, respect him any 
the less. “I well recollect,” says a celebra¬ 
ted statesman, “ calling in my college-days, 
to deliver a letter of introduction, to a gentle¬ 
man whom I found cleaning out his barn- 













158 CULTIVATION 


yard, with his leather apron girded round 
Iiim and his team his only helpers. I knew 
that he had led men in battle in other days, 
and that then he was the honored governor 
of one of the New England states: and I 
received a lesson from him by the call, which 
I trust I shall never forget. The interview 
made a deep impression on my heart.” What 
must be the contentment of a community who 
needed so little of government that their chief 
magistrate might till his own little farm, and 
gain his bread by the sweat of his brow! 

A very great number of our most valuable 
inventions and improvements are to be traced 
to intelligent men in the common walks of 
life. And there can be no doubt that in pro¬ 
portion to the intelligence of the mass of com¬ 
munity will be the advancement of the world 
toward its final glory. 

An intelligent man was a soap-maker. He 
noticed that after all the alkali had been ex¬ 
hausted, the ley would rapidly corrode his 
copper kettles. Unable to explain the phe¬ 
nomenon, he took some of it to an eminent 
chymist. On analyzing it, the chymist dis¬ 
covered a new substance, hitherto unknown, 
viz. : the metal called iodine. Further in¬ 
vestigation traced this to the ashes, then to 
the sea-weed from which the ashes had been 
made—then to the ocean, to salt springs and 
to all marine substances. A physician in 
Germany reads the account, and recollects 
that he had heard that burned sponge had 
been known to cure the horrible, and till then 
incurable, disease called the goitre —which 
afflicts whole districts in the south of Europe. 
He conjectures that it is the iodine in the 
sponge which effects the cure, and he accord¬ 
ingly applies the iodine to the goitre, and it is 
found that it is almost an infallible cure. 
Thus a world of misery is prevented by the 
shrewdness of the soap-boiler. 

A few years since, the scurvy was the ter¬ 
ror of the seas. Whole crews were cut down, 
and more than once the case has been known, 
in which the bodies of the dead sewed up in 
sail-cloth, have laid rolling on the deck, day 
after day, because the crew were too much 
withered to raise them over the nettings and 
commit them to the deep. Admiral Hosier, 
who sailed for the West Indies with seven 
sliips-of-the-line, during the last century, lost 
all his men twice over, during the single 
voyage, and himself died of a broken heart 
before he reached home. What a blessing 
did that man bestow, who informed the world 
that the simple acid of the lemon taken daily 
would banish this fearful disease ! It is now 
almost unknown even in the most crowded 
ships. 

The discovery of Franklin, a man at that 
time in common life, by which the lightnings 


OF THE MIND. 


of Heaven are brought under the control of 
man, is an example in point. In France and 
Germany, where the lightnings are far more 
destructive than with us, this discovery is 
valued as it ought to be. 

We might look at the lighthouse as it was, 
and as it now is, to see the immense improve¬ 
ments which have been made, and in conse¬ 
quence of which life is saved in multitudes 
of instances. We might point to the life¬ 
boat, which will now shoot out in the howl¬ 
ing stonn, and wfiich will ride over any raging 
of the deep, and show that it is to the intel¬ 
ligence of every-day-laboring mechanics, that 
we owe this valuable machine for saving hu- 
man life. We might mention the sections 
of Europe where the atmosphere is poisoned 
by malarious exhalations, and show what an 
amount of sickness and death has been pre¬ 
vented by quinine —a simple discovery, but 
one of immense value. 

It was found that the steel dust which was 
created by grinding needles, and which is in¬ 
expressibly minute, filled the atmosphere, 
and the eyes and the lungs, and invariably 
caused consumption. Gauze veils of the 
finest texture were tried, but all to no pur¬ 
pose. No veil could prevent it from entering 
the eyes and the lungs. At last a workman 
notices a child playing with a magnet—draw¬ 
ing the needles and steel dust after it—as we 
have all done in childhood. The discovery is 
now made. A veil of fine magnetic wire is 
drawn over the face—and the air is strained 
pure—all the dust of the steel being attracted 
and held by the wire, and the labor of grind¬ 
ing needles is now hardly more dangerous than 
any other business. 

These examples have been adduced (and 
they might be greatly extended)—and won¬ 
ders, like those achieved by the cotton-gin 
and by vaccination, might be dwelt upon al¬ 
most indefinitely—not because they are of 
course new, but because they show r that mind 
and intelligence in the workshop are as valu¬ 
able, and of as much use to the human family, 
as if they were employed in writing folios. 
One single fact brought into notice—one 
single phenomenon brought into view, and its 
explanation obtained, mav be unmeasured in 
its results upon the world. Usefulness and 
respectability come from the union of a good 
heart and an intelligent mind, and are to be 
monopolized by no station or occupation. 

While Scotland sends more of her sons to 
college, in proportion to her population, than 
any other country ; two of the New England 
states, Massachusetts and Connecticut, are 
next to her in this respect, and all New' Eng¬ 
land, and also New York, far before her, in 
giving their children the blessings of free 
schools. We feel that these schools, far in 











BEAUTY OF A BENEVOLENT LIFE. 


159 


advance of anything of the kind on the face 
of the earth, arc the glory and the safety of 
onr institutions. We feel that we may safely 
commit the dear interests of liberty to an ed¬ 
ucated community: and that next to the re¬ 
ligion of the book of God, there is no such 
safeguard to these institutions. Every in¬ 
crease of intelligence in our land, gives an 
increase of confidence in the stability and 
permanence of our institutions. 

The objects to be obtained by cultivating 
the mind, and for the sake of which we have 
referred to various examples to encourage 
others in the cultivation of their minds, are 
these:— 

1. To possess the power of fixing the mind 
on any subject wished, and holding the atten¬ 
tion upon it as long a time as is desired. This 
is a very important thing, and he who has ac¬ 
quired this power, has done a great work for 
himself. It can not be acquired without many 
and long efforts. 

2. To fix in the mind the elementary 
principles of all that pertains to life : such as, 
the principles of science, of business, of poli¬ 
tics, government, laws, and religion. 

3. To give the mind precision of thought. 

4. To give the power of using language, 
and defining what is meant by such terms as 
we commonly use when we speak or think. 

5. To fill the mind with the materials of 
thought, such as facts which we read, observe, 
and hear. 

6. To teach the mind where to go for in¬ 
formation—that is, from what sources it may 
draw. 

7. To teach the mind how to take up a 
subject, investigate it, and draw conclusions 
on which it may rely. 

8. To cultivate the judgment as to what 
facts are worth preserving, and what are ap¬ 
plicable in proving or illustrating a particular 
subject. 

9. To cultivate the memory so that the 
materials which are gathered, may not be dis¬ 
sipated and lost as fast as gathered. 

It may be thought that we have laid out 
the work of a life here, and so we have in¬ 
tended to do; but if the objects to be accom¬ 
plished are considered, it will be found that 
no one of these can be omitted in cultivating 
the mind in a proper manner. We can not, 
of course, have all these objects specially be¬ 
fore the mind whenever we exercise it; but 
they are to be the points to which we should 
bring the mind in all its wanderings, and in 
a cultivated mind these several points will 
unconsciously receive attention. 

All this discipline of the mind only looks 
to a high and noble object—which is to pre¬ 
pare the mind to be the receptacle of light 
and knowledge, the image of God, and the 


unseen glories of an eternal state. In all our 
contemplations of the mind, we look upon it 
as an immortal existence, and that it is for 
that state of immortality it is now to be pre¬ 
pared. Education does not mean going to 
school during our boyhood, or going to college 
in youth, but it means the power to take our 
mind and make it an instrument of conveying 
knowledge and good impressions upon other 
minds, as well as being itself made happy. 
To cultivate the mind, then, does not mean 
to read much or little, to converse and to ob¬ 
serve, but to discipline it in all ways in our 
power. We do not expect that every one 
will discipline his mind so that he can observe 
and think as well as Franklin—but what then ? 
Is this a reason why we should not do what 
we can ? Neither could Franklin reason like 
Isaac Newton, and bring the universe at his 
feet. What then? Was this a reason why 
he should not do all he could ? 


BEAUTY OF A BENEVOLENT LIFE. 

Without an enlarged consideration of the 
nature of things, it might be supposed that 
every man should devote himself to his own 
welfare, and never feel obliged to render as¬ 
sistance to others. Can not every one attend 
to his own interests better than a second per¬ 
son can attend to them ? And does not evil 
rather than good ensue, when each man neg¬ 
lects his own individual concerns and devotes 
himself to the affairs of his neighbor? But 
the Author of our constitution has not proceed¬ 
ed on the principle of concentrating the ac¬ 
tivities of every individual upon himself. He 
has chosen to diffuse them from each person 
as a centre, through the area of a large circle. 
He has not made the human ear so that it 
shall be turned inward for hearkening to the 
circulation of the blood, and to the sound of 
every movement of a muscle or a nerve ; but 
he has made it so that it shall turn its atten¬ 
tion outward, and shall take in the music that 
floats along the air, and open itself to the 
whispering zephyrs and the roar of the water¬ 
falls. God has not made the human eye so 
that it shall introvert its gaze and look behind 
itself at the curious play of the nerves and 
tendons, and the network of veins and arte¬ 
ries ; but he has so made the eye that it shall 
look outward, and extend its range over long 
drawn valleys and the winding course of rivers, 
and along the sweep of the heavens. Neither 
has he made the human heart so that it shall 
find its true repose in clustering its affections 
around itself; but the mother will cling to 
her child, and the child will reach out its arms 









THE WASP FAMILY. 


160 


=n 


to his mother; the parent diffuses cheerful¬ 
ness through the family circle, and one family 
imparts of its pleasures to the neighborhood, 
and the neighborhood feel an interest in the 
town, and the town in the nation, and the 
nation in other countries of the world. De¬ 
praved as is the heart of man, it was yet made 
for benevolent action, and will never be in 
its due health and vigor unless it exercise 
itself for the welfare of the world. As the 
luminary of day was not created so that all its 
rays will converge to one point, but rather 
so that they will diverge throughout the whole 
system of planets; and as it gives light to the 
moon, but the moon instantly imparts the 
bright gift to the earth, and the earth reflects 
it for the use of man; so the human constitu¬ 
tion was never designed for contracting its 
agencies within the sphere of its own good, but 
for diffusing its radiance throughout the whole 
family to which it belongs. 

Benevolence is a fundamental law of our 
moral being; and the man who labors for his 
fellow-men secures thereby the gratification 
of his most commanding principles of action; 
but he who labors for himself alone, stirs up 
against his own peace some of the most ope¬ 
rative elements of his nature. The Deity 
knew well that a disposition to labor for sel¬ 
fish ends is destructive of man’s true interests; 
and that a disposition to labor for the common 
good, is the only sure way of securing good 
for self; therefore has he devolved on us 
many acts of beneficence which he might him¬ 
self have performed as easily as omitted. 
He might speak a single word to the Hindoo 
widow as she ascends the funeral pile of her 
husband, and she would go down again in her 
right mind ; but he chooses to set the specta¬ 
cle before our own eyes, and to let us hear the 
shrieks of the self-immolating woman, so that 
our compassion may be moved and our ener¬ 
gies enlisted in her service. He calls us to 
the banks of the Ganges, and bids us look 
upon the mother forcing from her breasts the 
child that weeps and struggles to remain with 
her, and throwing it into the stream where 
the eager alligators are gamboling for their 
prey. He could easily rebuke the frantic 
mother, and she would press her loved one 
closer to her bosom; but he chooses to touch 
our pity, and appeal to our benevolence, and 
to command us to send his gospel into all the 
world, that it may cast out the demons of 
superstition and may let the bond-slaves of 
heathenism go free. He bids us walk in our 
imaginations over the dolorous way travelled 
by the car of Juggernaut, and walled on either 
side with the bones of crushed victims ; He 
sets before our eyes hundreds and thousands 
of living men, hanging from transverse beams 
upon hooks that have perforated their mus¬ 


cles, and swinging round and round in torture; 
He places all these barbarous scenes before 
our vision, so that the eye may affect the 
heart, and the heart may be roused to a holy 
purpose. For us to do , the work is left; for 
our good it is, that we address ourselves to 
the work in earnest; for the highest good of 
our whole character, the good of benevolence 
encouraged, of philanthropy developed, of 
a spiritual temper cherished and strengthen¬ 
ed; a good 'purchased at great expense , even 
the miseries of our own fellow-men—they 
suffering so that we may be made more com¬ 
passionate. 


THE WASP FAMILY. 

Poets and essayists are in the habit of 
likening the wasp to fops of another genus, and 
vice versa . This questionable sort of reputa¬ 
tion these insects must ascribe to their splen¬ 
did caparison, and to their apparently useless 
position in the world. The simile is more 
true in a more curious respect; for there are 
annual reunions of these glittering creatures, 
just as in the fashionable world—a fashiona¬ 
ble season of a few months, and then all dis¬ 
perse again. The economy of the wasp fami¬ 
ly possesses considerable interest, and deserves 
far more attention than, in our hostile state of 
feelings toward the race, we are readily dis¬ 
posed to believe. It is only necessary that 
the real character of the tribe should be known, 
to remove at least the blot of laziness from it. 
That they are a set of bold, insolent, daring 
robbers, no one can deny ; yet give them their 
due, and we shall admit that there is much in 
their habits deserving our admiration, and that 
even their audacious thefts have their redeem¬ 
ing points. 

The general aspect of the Vespidce , or 
wasps, is sufficiently familiar to obviate the 
necessity of description. Their black and 
gold-painted bodies, their powerful mandibles, 
formidable stings, and their surface destitute 
of hairs, are present to the eye at the very 
mention of the word. The society consists of 
males, females, and neuters, each having their 
appropriate functions ; but the males, on the 
whole, leading the quietest and least arduous 
lives. The females are the hard-working 
foundresses of the colony, and the neuters are 
wasps of all-work—robbing, fighting, defend¬ 
ing, nursing, and building, indifferently and by 
turns. Their history commences most conve¬ 
niently for our purposes in the spring. At the 
conclusion of the preceding summer, the males, 
after pairing, all died, and there remained but 
a few females behind of all the busy ranks 









THE WASP FAMILY. 


161 


which crowded the vespiary. These are awa¬ 
kened by the return of spring. The solitary 
wasp finds herself immediately summoned to 
active duties. She has to construct the car¬ 
cass, and to excavate the earthwork, for her 
future people and city. Serious as is the task, 
she has to effect it all alone ; not a single com¬ 
panion to cheer her hours of incessant toil, or 
to lighten her labor by a single load ! Her 
energies are equal to the undertaking: she is 
to be seen buzzing about in the sunny morn¬ 
ings, looking out for a site. It is soon found: 
it is some dry, warm bank; and here she sets 
to her work. She perforates it, and forms a 
long circuitous tunnel, at the extremity of 
which she digs out a vault of considerable di¬ 
mensions. This task is performed in no care¬ 
less or slovenly manner ; although every par¬ 
ticle of rubbish which the little excavator tears 
from the walls of her cavern must be carried 
in her jaws, she does not leave it at the en¬ 
trance, but voluntarily entails upon herself the 
vast additional labor of casting it away to some 
distance. Her design in so doing appears to 
be principally to avoid the risk of her cell be¬ 
ing discovered by a heap of rubbish at the foot 
of the bank. After the labor of excavation is 
ended, the walls are to be plastered, and to 
this fresh duty she at once addresses herself. 
Surely every person has seen the nest of the 
wasp, and wondered at its exquisite and deli¬ 
cate architecture of celled paper ? Behold the 
architect! The nest is really made of paper : 
it was for some time a puzzle to our philoso¬ 
phers. Reaumur appears first to have de¬ 
tected the wasp in the very act of this manu¬ 
facture. He beheld her alight on a deal win¬ 
dow-frame ; and watching, saw her tear a bun¬ 
dle of delicate, hair-like fibres, about an inch 
in length, from it, bruising the woody fibre 
with her mandibles until it became like a fine 
lint. This is the material from which the 
papyraceous plaster is to be prepared. Fly¬ 
ing away with it to her abode, it is there made 
into a proper consistence by the addition of her 
tenacious saliva; and when this part of the 
process is complete, it forms a fine, smooth, 
adhesive paste, precisely analogous to the 
product of our cumbrous and costly mechan¬ 
ism papier mache. Rolling it into a sort of 
pellet, she conveys it to the summit of the 
dome, plasters it on the wall, and spreads it 
out, by means of her legs and jaws, into a very 
thin lamina, which is veritable paper. Leaf 
after leaf must be added, until the whole cav¬ 
ity is thus papered or plastered over, and not 
with one coat alone; generally the insect lays 
down fifteen or sixteen, leaving spaces be¬ 
tween each layer, for the advantages of inward 
lightness and strength to her ceiling. Her la¬ 
bors do not end here. She has built the walls 
of the city : it remains for her to commence the 


edifices, and supply the population. She builds 
a terrace of hexagonal cells, of marvellous ex¬ 
actness, and suspends it by paper pillars from 
the roof of her texture. These terraces emu¬ 
late in elegance and artistic skill, and far sur¬ 
pass in utility, the famous hanging gardens 
and terraces of the renowned city of old. A 
few hundred cells are thus constructed, and at 
length an interval of comparative repose awaits 
the laborer, while she proceeds to fulfil her 
more proper duties as a parent. Single-hand¬ 
ed, she has laid the foundation of the vesp- 
polis, and has marked out the general design 
of its future buildings ; but she must have fur¬ 
ther assistance before the city will be complete. 
The walls, at present bare and desolate, the 
palace empty and still, are soon to resound 
with the hum of life, and with the busy labors 
of a new generation. In the cells the insect 
deposites her ova, gluing them to the walls by 
an adhesive substance; these are soon hatched, 
they become larvae, and are for some time en¬ 
tirely dependent upon their parent’s exertions 
for their supply of food. She has to forage 
for this numerous and voracious progeny, and 
runs about from cell to cell with the utmost 
solicitude, while the grubs put forth their 
mouths, and are fed by her just as the “ cal¬ 
low brood” of a bird is fed. Most pleasing is 
it to observe the anxious mother keeping watch 
over her offspring, and apparently many a 
needless time popping her head into their snug 
cots, as if to see how they do, and to give a 
mouthful of food now and then to some tender 
young larva not yet big enough to put its head 
out to be fed ! A few weeks slip by—a great 
change has come over the vespiary : it is re¬ 
plete with life; hundreds of workers have been 
bom in the interim, and are now laboring might 
and main, with the emperess at their head, to 
extend the buildings, and enlarge the city. 
When complete, a vespiary has been calcu¬ 
lated to contain about fifteen or sixteen thou¬ 
sand cells, each of which is thrice a cradle ; 
and therefore, in a single season, each nest 
will probably be the birthplace of full thirty 
thousand wasps! 

Such is the birth and development of this 
insect colony—a lesson to states, and nations, 
and individuals, of the certain results of in¬ 
domitable perseverance. Let us trace out its 
government and destinies. The emperess— 
the protoplast of this interesting microcosm, 
the foundress of this bustling republic—is an 
exaggerated type of the duties of its female 
members. These are produced in compara¬ 
tively small numbers; they perfonn the prop¬ 
er duties of wives and mothers; they stay at 
home, feed the children, and attend to the 
nurseries; they mostly perish before winter; 
but a few, more hardy than their fellows,. en¬ 
dure its cold, and become the perpetuators of 


11 







162 THE WASP FAMILY. 


the race in the ensuing spring. The males, 
according to the younger Huber, are far more 
industrious than the male bees, or drones, but 
are less active by far than the neuters, or 
working-wasps. They have the peaceful oc¬ 
cupation of scavengering the streets: they 
sweep the floors of the terraces and avenues, 
and diligently carry off every particle of rub¬ 
bish. They also undertake the funerals of 
any deceased companions, and speedily cast 
the dead bodies out of the vespiary. On the 
whole, they are useful members of the com¬ 
munity ; and they probably owe their permis¬ 
sion to live to their diligence. The “work¬ 
ers” are the most interesting class : they are 
smaller in size than either male or female 
wasps, but are wonderfully energetic, and in- 
defatigably laborious. Some are builders and 
repairers of the breach ; they receive a com¬ 
mission to make excursions for building-mate¬ 
rials ; and returning home with their bundles 
of lint, set themselves to the repairs and ex¬ 
tension of the city. Others are the commis¬ 
sariats : the issues of life at home are intimate¬ 
ly connected with their expeditions. They 
roam over fields and meadows, frequently 
catching flies and weaker insects, and carry¬ 
ing the game home often with no inconsidera- 
ble difficulty. Dr. Darwin says he once be¬ 
held a curious act of a wasp : it had caught a 
large fly, and in rising with it into the air, the 
breeze caught its wings, and nearly wrenched 
it from the wasp’s clutches. The insect im¬ 
mediately alighted, and deliberately sawed off 
the wings of its victim, when it was able to 
carry it in safety away. There was a some¬ 
thing nobler than instinct in this action, nor is 
it by any means an isolated example of insect 
sagacity. Others seek our orchards, select the 
ripest, sweetest fruits, suck their juices, and 
convey home the luscious treasure, of which 
but a small portion is for themselves. These 
foragers will even enter and rob beehives. 
Those that tarry at home, in every instance 
share the spoil. Our grocery-stores and butch¬ 
ers’ stalls are equally attractive to the forager- 
wasps. Surely it is some palliation of the rob¬ 
bery to remember the claims of hungry kins¬ 
folks, friends, and acquaintance, and little ones 
at home ! There is no squabbling at their or¬ 
derly meal-times ; no fighting for the “ lion’s 
share each expectant insect receives its due 
portion, and is content therewith. “ I have 
seen,” writes the fascinating observer Reau¬ 
mur, “ a worker, after returning home with 
spoil, on entering the nest, quietly perch at 
the top, and protrude a clear drop of fluid from 
its mouth. Several wasps drank together from 
this crystal drop until it was all swallowed; 
then the worker would cause a second, and 
sometimes a third drop, to exude, the contents 
of which were distributed in peace to other 


wasps.” Here is a lesson for our young read¬ 
ers to observe and practise ! 

The mode of government is republican : 
there is no recognised head, as with the bees; 
yet an amount of even military discipline, and 
the utmost order, are to be found among the 
subjects. The good of the commonwealth 
seems to be the prevailing object of each in¬ 
sect. If the workers are building, each has its 
own spot, about an inch square, assigned to it, 
as the amount of work it is expected to exe¬ 
cute. It was an interesting discovery of Mr. 
Knight, that wasps also have sentinels : these 
are placed at the entrance of the vespiary ; 
they run gently in and out of it, and give im¬ 
mediate notice of the approach of danger. To 
their communications alone does the commu¬ 
nity give heed; and on their giving the alarm, 
will issue in angry hosts to avenge the injury, 
and defend their home to the death. Some¬ 
times, however, but rarely, intestine combats 
take place ; and there are terrific duels be¬ 
tween the workers, or between a worker and 
a male. This is a bad affair for the latter, as 
he has no sting: his fate is generally to die. 

One of the most striking facts in the natu¬ 
ral history of the Vespidae is the occurrence 
of an annual massacre in October. Then the 
vespiary is indeed a scene of horrible atroci¬ 
ties and profuse carnage. The wasps, whose 
affection for their young is generally remark¬ 
ably strong, seem then to be possessed with 
phrensied rage against them. They cease to 
feed their larvae: “they do worse,” angrily 
writes Reaumur ; “ the mothers become im¬ 
placable murderesses ; they drag the helpless 
larvae out of their cells, slay them, and scatter 
them outside the nest, strewing the very earth 
with their dead carcasses. There is no com¬ 
punction : the massacre is universal.” A wise 
purpose is fulfilled by this apparent cruelty. 
The coining winter would rapidly destroy, by 
a far more miserable death, all that are killed 
on this occasion; and it is a stroke of mercy to 
terminate their sufferings by a blow. The 
early frosts destroy the murderers themselves. 
The scene is now, in truth, altered; “ the pop¬ 
ulous city has become waste, and without in¬ 
habitant,” saving some one or two females, 
which spend the winter in the depths of the 
vespiary. The complicated galleries, cells, 
and hanging terraces, and the entire frame¬ 
work of the nest, are for ever vacated when 
the female leaves them in the spring; and this 
exquisite specimen of insect architecture is 
abandoned to the destroying influences of time 
and accident. These interesting features of 
the history of the Vespidae are full of subject- 
matter for our meditation and admiration, in¬ 
dicating, so clearly as they do, that the “ Hand 
that made them is divine yet all these mar¬ 
vellous sagacities, contrivances, and governing 














NEW ZEALAND. 


principles, present us with hut dim and broken 
reflections of the far-seeing Wisdom that cre¬ 
ated all things, “ and for whose pleasure they 
are and were created.” 

A few more particulars will make the histo¬ 
ry of this family a little more complete. The 
preceding sketch has dealt only with the com¬ 
mon wasp, Vespa vulgaris. The mason-wasp 
is a solitary insect, and builds its nest in sand 
and brick—being able, by means of its strong 
mandibles, to break off pieces of brick with 
ease, and to burrow to a considerable depth in 
its substance. It has the peculiarity of storing 
up ten or twelve green larvae, as food for its 
own, and resorts to a curious contrivance to 
prevent them from moving out of its reach. 
The hornet, Vespa crabo, selects for its habi¬ 
tation commonly some decayed, hollow trunk, 
or the eaves of old buildings, where, construct¬ 
ing its nest, it forms a tortuous gallery of en¬ 
trance. Our farmers sometimes make use of 
these nests to destroy domestic flies, hanging 
them up in their rooms, where they do not 
molest the family, but fall entirely upon the 
flies. Another species, the Vespa Britannica, 
forms a curious oval nest, sometimes to be seen 
hanging from the branches of trees. Others 
form elegant nests, like half-open flowers, with 
a platform of cells at the bottom. A foreign 
species constructs a beautiful nest, of a sub¬ 
stance identical with the very finest card¬ 
board, suspending it, like a watch from a 
guard-chain, by a ring at the extremity of the 
bough, out of the reach of monkeys. Some¬ 
times these nests grow to an enormous size : 
the London Zoological Society has one six 
feet long. A South-American species of wasp 
imitates the bee, and is a collector of honey. 

Bold as are the Vespidas, great as is their 
fecundity, they are mercifully kept in check. 
The ichneumon is their ferocious foe ; in the 
West-Xndian islands they are the victims of a 
parasitic plant, which vegetates in their inte¬ 
rior ; man leagues his forces against them; and 
nature itself, in a deluging season or severe 
winter, destroys thousands, and prevents the 
plague becoming greater than w r e are able to 
bear. 


Reason. —It is the pilot of human life, and 
steers it steadily through wild and tempestu¬ 
ous seas, amid the rocks and shelves of for¬ 
tune and folly, ignorance and error, and the 
thousand snares of the world. It is this alone 
that enables man to despise imaginary evils, 
and vanquish real ones. It arms the mind 
with true and lasting magnanimity, furnishes 
it with solid comforts, and teaches it to extract 
life and health, virtue and wisdom, out of the 
madness and mutability of men and fortune; 
like antidotes and cordials, out of things poi¬ 
sonous and baneful in their nature. 


163 


NEW ZEALAND. 

The two islands in the South-Pacific ocean, 
constituting what is known as New Zealand, 
were first discovered by Tasman. In the year 
1642, he traversed the eastern coast from lati¬ 
tude thirty-four to forty-three degrees, and en¬ 
tered the strait, called Cook’s strait. It "was 
supposed, from the period of its first discovery 
to the time of the enterprising captain Cook, 
that the strait entered by Tasman separated 
an island from some vast southern continent; 
but the British navigator, who sailed round 
both islands in the years 1769 and 1770, com¬ 
pletely removed this error. The two islands 
that go by the name of New Zealand are sit¬ 
uated between thirty-four degrees twenty-two 
minutes and forty-seven degrees twenty-five 
minutes south latitude, and between one hun¬ 
dred and sixty-six and one hundred and eighty 
degrees east longitude. The northernmost of 
these islands is called by the natives Eaheino- 
mauwe, and the southernmost Tavai, or Tovy 
Poenammoo. Upon referring to the map of 
this country, it will be seen that Eaheinomau- 
we, or the northern island, running from the 
North cape, which is in latitude thirty-four 
degrees twenty minutes south, to Cape Paliser, 
in forty-one degrees thirty-six minutes south, 
contains four hundred and thirty-six miles in 
length ; and taking the medium breadth, which 
varies from five miles at Sandy bay to one 
hundred and eighty at the East cape, at about 
sixty miles, this extent will include twenty-six 
thousand one hundred and sixty square miles ; 
while Tavai Poenammoo, the southern island, 
extending from forty-one degrees thirty min¬ 
utes to forty-seven degrees twenty-five min¬ 
utes south, stretches three hundred and sixty 
miles in length, and estimating its medium 
breadth at one hundred miles, contains not less 
than thirty-six thousand square miles. 

Several missionary stations have been es¬ 
tablished here, for the double purpose of civ¬ 
ilizing the natives, and instructing them in the 
truths of the Christian religion ; and the mis¬ 
sionaries continue struggling against the seri¬ 
ous obstacles opposed to their progress, from 
the ferocious habits and superstitions of the 
natives. It was in the year 1814 that the first 
missionary settlers were established among the 
New-Zealanders, on the bay of Islands, by the 
Rev. Samuel Marsden. 

Several New-Zealanders, who were brought 
to New Holland, and had there an opportunity 
of witnessing the arts and improvements of civ¬ 
ilized life, have been of great service to the 
missions. The features of these islanders are 
better known to us than those of any others in 
that distant region, in consequence of the prac¬ 
tice which exists of partially embalming their 
dead ; and the head of a New-Zealand chief 











A Party of Missionaries crossing a Swamp in New Zealand. 



















































































































































































































































































ASTRONOMY. 


is as frequently seen in our museums as any 
common specimen of stuffed animals. 

Our engraving represents a party of devo¬ 
ted missionaries, accompanied by natives, pas¬ 
sing through a swamp—an occurrence not un¬ 
frequent in travelling in New Zealand. The 
scene here represented took place in the jour¬ 
ney of the missionaries to Matamata, one of 
the southern stations. The European to the 
left is intended for the Rev. Henry Williams : 
the one on the right, for Mr. Morgan, who, 
having slipped into a hole, is being helped out 
hy the natives; the two in the centre, for the 
Rev. A. N. Brown and Mr. Fairburn. Diffi¬ 
culties like these, however, are far less serious 
than many others which the missionaries have 
to encounter in New Zealand. The baggage 
required by the missionaries in these journeys 
is carried by the natives on their backs, as 
shown in the engraving. 


LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY-No, 3. 

BY PROFESSOR O. M. MITCHELL. 

In the examination of the structure of the 
universe, we are very apt to adopt the idea 
that it is impossible that any other system, 
than the system which we now know, does or 
could exist. We go even farther, and con¬ 
ceive the idea, that the great laws which now 
govern, are the only laws that could govern— 
that the law of motion, for example, is a ne¬ 
cessary law of matter, and that the law of 
gravitation is a principle inherent in matter, 
which can not be severed from it. These are 
views which are too generally entertained ; 
and, in the outset of what I am about to say, 
I beg to be understood as to my own concep¬ 
tions, with regard to these important points. 

I believe that “In the beginning, God cre¬ 
ated the heavens and the earth that he se¬ 
lected the laws by which he would govern the 
universe, and that these laws are the perpet¬ 
ual and unchangeable expression of his al¬ 
mighty will. But, do you ask the question : 
Could this system of ours, upon which we 
look with so deep an interest, have been dif¬ 
ferently arranged, and yet have accomplished 
the grand objects which it seems designed to 
accomplish ? That depends entirely upon 
what we conceive to have been the grand ob¬ 
ject. I contend it could not have been dif¬ 
ferently arranged with the objects in view, 
which we have reason to believe were had at 
the time of its contemplated organization. 
But do we, on the way through our examina¬ 
tion, conceive fully and entirely—or even ap¬ 
proximately—the grand object of this scheme 


1G5 


by which we are surrounded ? I know it is 
difficult to touch this subject: it is hard to 
make myself understood : but a very few mo¬ 
ments of explanation, I trust, will be suffi¬ 
cient—and then I will proceed to the appli¬ 
cation of the laws of gravitation. 

In the first place, the great design in con¬ 
stituting the system by which we are sur¬ 
rounded, and with which we are associated, 
was to give to it perpetuity, so that it may 
not have the elements of its own dissolution, 
and decay within itself. 

Let Us stop here for a moment, and see 
whether this object could have been attained 
in any other way. I believe that it could 
have been attained in a much simpler way 
than it now is. Do not misunderstand me, 
for I use the expression with all reverence. 
If the law of gravitation had been a little dif¬ 
ferent ; if instead of every particle of matter 
attracting every other particle in the universe, 
this law had been announced thus : The sun 
shall attract the planets, but they shall not in¬ 
fluence each other—the planets shall attract 
their satellites, but these revolving satellites, 
shall have no attractive influence upon each 
other—the sun shall draw the comets from the 
depths of space, and shall bring them to itself, 
and throw them off again, without their being 
influenced in any degree by approximation to 
the planets among which they move—then we 
should have had a stable system—one that 
would have endured throughout the ceaseless 
ages of eternity itself. And how simple this 
system would have been in comparison to the 
one which now exists. In the one by which 
we are surrounded, we find perturbation upon 
perturbation, disturbance upon disturbance, 
causing reaction throughout the whole, till ev¬ 
ery movement becomes so complicated and in¬ 
volved that it seems almost impossible to un¬ 
derstand or follow their devious operations. 

On the contrary, had the other system been 
adopted, so soon as we should have attained 
to the true position occupied by one of these 
beautiful orbs in its revolution above us—its 
uniform movement being fully understood— 
from century to century, from age to age, as 
far as the imagination can stretch in point of 
time, no change, not a solitary deviation, ev¬ 
er would have been made from the route 
which it first pursued. 

But there was a higher object to be attained 
in the structure of the universe, than mere 
stability. We have shown how that might 
have been done. But this complicated sys¬ 
tem was given for our instruction, as a grand 
problem which would lead us in our investi¬ 
gations onward and upward to Him who built 
the universe in wisdom and with power. And 
hence we find the complication by which we 
are surrounded—and in this complication we 










ASTRONOMY. 


166 


find that which stimulates and excites the hu¬ 
man intellect to its highest possible attain¬ 
ments. 

With this explanation, allow me to refer, 
to the concluding part of my last lecture. I 
attempted to exhibit the process of reasoning 
by which Newton accomplished the demon¬ 
stration of the law of Gravitation—to show 
how, by the examination of the movements 
of the moon in its orbit, and the amount of 
space through which it fell toward the earth, 
under the influence of some attractive force 
there located, he found that force varied ac¬ 
cording to a certain law, to wit: The inverse 
ratio of the Square of the Distance. 

The next point made—after he had attained 
this first one—by which he became convinced 
that this law was true, was to extend his ex¬ 
aminations onward to see whether, in all oth¬ 
er instances, this might be applied with suc¬ 
cess, and if the movements of the other heav¬ 
enly bodies could be accounted for, on this 
hypothesis. He therefore, commenced the 
examination of the great problem, of which 
this was to be merely a corollary. He pro¬ 
pounded to himself this vast question : Sup¬ 
pose a body to exist in space, located in such 
a manner as in a sense to be isolated. Now, 
as this body is endued with this power of at¬ 
traction which shall follow in the inverse ra¬ 
tio of the square of the distance : What 
would be the nature of the curve, described 
by the body revolving about this centre, when 
under the influence of force varying as did 
the force of gravity ? 

As I have already related, Kepler had found 
that the planets described elliptical orbits, hav¬ 
ing one axis passing through the centre, long¬ 
er than all the others, and another axis per¬ 
pendicular to this, shorter than all the others. 
Inasmuch as they did thus revolve, Newton 
hoped and believed that when he should have 
arrived at the truth in the investigation of this 
problem, as to the curve described, that it 
would prove to be an ellipse, inasmuch as they 
were known to revolve in these curves. He 
takes the analysis which he had conjured up 
for his aid, brings all his intellectual power to 
bear upon the problem, and subjects it to an 
irresistible analytical reasoning, of which all 
the data, were perfectly within his grasp. 
The result comes out—in a kind of cabalistic 
algebraic characters which I can not explain 
at this time. But it is sufficient to say, that 
there was an additional meaning; and the 
query was, What was that meaning? Was 
it an expression exhibiting the curve of the 
eclipse? It was strange, even to Newton, 
what that expression was; it did not look 
familiar ; it did not exhibit the proportions of 
this elliptical curve—and what could it be ? 
With much labor he unravelled the mystery, 


and to his astonishment he found that instead 
of being the equation of the ellipse, as it is 
called, it was the equation—the general ex¬ 
pression—of no less than four curves : the cir¬ 
cle , the ellipse, the parabola, and the hyper¬ 
bola, were all in like manner involved ; each 
and every one of these curves being the ex¬ 
pression to which he arrived as the result of 
his examination. But what could be the 
meaning of all this ? He looks out upon the 
system for an answer ; and lo ! a comet, com¬ 
ing in from the distance, sweeps round the 
sun in a curve, called the parabola; another 
describes the hyperbola ; the planets revolve 
in ellipses, and their satellites describe cir¬ 
cles. 

Here you perceive was a very unlooked-for 
result, and it became evident that either one 
of these four curves might be described about 
a body revolving about a centre, under the in¬ 
fluence of the law of gravity. 

When this result was reached, the next in¬ 
quiry was this : Is it true now that every par¬ 
ticle of matter attracts every other particle, 
according to this law ? The examination of 
this question presented many difficulties. 
How was it to be resolved ? How could he 
tell whether the force of attraction in the 
earth for example, was located in the central 
point of the globe, or distributed throughout 
the whole mass, existing equally in every par¬ 
ticle of that mass. He commences by exam¬ 
ining the figure of the earth—applies the law 
upon the hypothesis, that every particle did 
attract every other particle—he finds the 
earth revolving upon an axis, and perceives 
what is produced by the operation of this law 
upon the earth. If, in the outset, the earth 
were created perfectly spherical, he finds, un¬ 
der the influence of the swift rotation upon 
the axis, it can not maintain that figure; its 
form must be changed, and another given it in 
process of time ; and he even predicted before 
the measurement had been made, what it must 
be, and determined what should be the ratio 
of the polar and the equatorial diameters of 
the earth. 

But if the figure of the sphere were changed 
from the action of these laws, might not the 
process go on, and the globe at length become 
so entirely changed, that the particles of mat¬ 
ter at the equator should fly off, and thus the 
whole mass be disintegrated and diffused in 
space ? 

Let us look at this for a moment. You are 
all aware of the fact that the earth is depressed 
at the poles, and protuberant at the equator— 
that the mass of matter composing the body 
of our planet, is heaped up, as it were, at the 
equator, and at the radius of the earth at that 
point, is thirteen miles longer than at the poles. 
How was this figure obtained, and how comes 












ASTRONOMY. 


it that it is not destroyed ? I will attempt an 
explanation. 

By the rotation of every revolving body, 
there is a force created, called centrifugal 
force. This you see verified every day : not 
a carriage rolls along the streets, but you see 
particles of dust flying off the revolving 
wheels. The same force is produced in the 
mass of the earth itself. Now suppose we 
pass from the equator toward the poles. 
When we reach the poles we find there is no 
tendency to fly off from that point, in conse¬ 
quence of centrifugal force, because there is 
no velocity of rotation. But as we recede 
from the axis of rotation, and as the radius be¬ 
comes greater, the centrifugal force is increas¬ 
ed in consequence of the velocity of rotation 
being accelerated. 

Now let us take the fluid particles upon 
the earth’s surface. What will be the conse¬ 
quence if it remain stationary, or if it move 
< upward toward the equator and downward to¬ 
ward the poles ?—for the solution of this ques¬ 
tion will determine the figure of the earth, 
under certain limits of calculation. These 
particles, under the influence of the centrifu¬ 
gal force, have a tendency to fly off in a per¬ 
pendicular direction, and the force of gravity 
lias a tendency to draw them to the centre of 
the earth. Under the action of these two 
forces, we find the particle does not remain 
stationary, but is moving upward, along a cen¬ 
tral line upon the surface of the earth, toward 
the equator, and thus particle after particle is 
impelled upward. But how is it possible that 
this operation should ever cease ? I will ex¬ 
plain the reason. 

When a body rests upon an inclined plane, 
the action of gravity tends to bring it down 
that plane, and it requires a certain amount of 
force to heave it upward against the action of 
gravity. Now, when the particle of matter, 
under the influence of the combined forces al¬ 
ready described, is heaved up and locates it¬ 
self at the equator, still other particles are 
heaved up, till the whole figure of the earth 
is swelled out; and the next particles to be 
thrown up, will ascend in some sense an in¬ 
clined plane. Recollect there is here a heap¬ 
ing up of matter—a swelling out—and the 
great level of the earth is changed, and the 
time finally comes when the gravity due to the 
inclined plane, upon which the particle rests, 
is precisely balanced by the force which tends 
to throw it up ; and, this equilibrium once ob¬ 
tained, any further change in the figure of the 
earth for ever ceases. 

We now take up the telescope, and with an 
inquiring gaze, examine the other planets. 
They, too, are moving upon their axes : But 
with the same velocity with which the earth 
moves ? No ; they all have different veloci- 


167 


ties. Are their figures in like manner chan¬ 
ging by this rotation ? I answer: they are all 
changing; or, if not, they still possess a fig¬ 
ure of equilibrium heretofore obtained. And 
we find, moreover, that there are certain nar¬ 
row limits within which a figure of this char¬ 
acter must be circumscribed—that if the velo¬ 
city of rotation given to any body should ex¬ 
ceed a certain amount, this equilibrium is de¬ 
stroyed, the figure is changed, and even its 
solid substance disintegrated and broken up. 
But in all the examinations we have been able 
to make, we find these narrow limits nicely 
resolved, and no one of these falling bodies 
has exceeded the limits of stability and per¬ 
petuity. 

Having examined the effect of gravitation, 
I propose to trace out, for a short time, some 
of the effects produced by this extraordinary 
change of figure, if I may call it a change. 
(I do not know if it ever were different.) It 
is found that a globe will attract precisely as 
if the matter belonging to it were compacted 
at its centre ; and were all the planets precise 
spheres, then the problem of the solar system 
would have been merely to ascertain what 
shall be the relative influence of one of these 
bodies upon the other, all being regarded as 
simple material points. But this is not the 
fact: the}^ are spheroids, flattened at the poles; 
in consequence of which we find a train of 
results of a curious and complicated character. 

When you look out upon the north star, 
you find that object apparently fixed and per¬ 
manent—and if the idea of fixity has ever 
entered your minds, you can get no stronger 
conception of it than that which results from 
the fixity of this star. “ As unchangeable as 
the north star,” has grown into a proverb. 
But if you could revisit this earth twelve thou¬ 
sand years hence, and look for your favorite 
bright and beautiful star—lo ! it has changed 
its position—it has wandered to a distant re¬ 
gion of the heavens—it is no longer in that 
point to which the earth’s axis is directed, or 
near it; but some other has taken its place. 
What can be the meaning of this ? I answer 
it depends upon the figure of the earth, and 
upon the action of the sun and moon, upon 
the protuberant matter girdling the earth’s 
equator. Now for the explanation of this 
curious phenomenon. 

If it were possible for us to extend the equa¬ 
tor of the earth, till it met the sphere of the 
heavens, then to describe around the heavens 
a circle of fire that we could discern, running 
all the way around among the fixed stars, we 
should have the curve called the equinoctial 
in the heavens. Now, if we could trace out 
the track of the sun among the fixed stars, we 
should find another circle, but one not coinci¬ 
ding with the one we have already located— 









ASTRONOMY. 


168 


they would form a certain angle, crossing each 
other at opposite points. The first of these 
is the equator, the second the ecliptic; and 
their intersections at their opposite points are 
called the equinoctial points. These points 
have been and will be examined with the ut¬ 
most scrutiny. The attention of the earliest 
astronomer was directed to their position in 
the heavens ; and upon the day in which the 
sun, sweeping around in its orbit, crossed this 
other circle, called the equinoctial—on that 
day, it was found that the length of the day 
and the night was precisely equal. Upon no 
other day did this occur, except on the two 
occasions, when the sun was in the act of pas¬ 
sing through one or the other of these points. 
It became, then a matter of the deepest inter¬ 
est to locate this point among the fixed stars. 
I shall not attempt to point out the manner in 
which it was accomplished. It was simply 
with the brazen circles they had made for that 
purpose, that they accomplished this most de¬ 
sirable object. In Egypt, great attention was 
given to this point, in consequence of the fact 
that they marked some great events, such as 
the overflowing of the Nile, by the heliacal 
rising of a certain bright star. In centuries 
after, by referring this star to the equinoctial 
points, the overflowing of the Nile came, but 
the star which always announced it, did not. 
come down in the horizon. 

What could be the meaning of this ? Ei¬ 
ther one of two conclusions must follow. The 
star itself had moved, or the equinoctial point 
to which it was referred was moving ; and it 
was found, by referring all the stars to this 
point, that it was actually moving in the heav¬ 
ens, going backward, as it were, to meet the 
sun; and in consequence of this movement., 
the sun reached the equinoctial point before it 
otherwise would. Thus the difference of time 
in the sun’s arrival at the equinoctial point, 
exceeded their computations, obliging them to 
carry forward the equinoctial points: and 
hence the term —Precession of the Equinoxes. 

You may ask what has this to do with the 
movement of the north star, or the pole of the 
earth. I will explain: The point called the 
north pole is that through which the earth’s 
axis would pass if it were protracted so far 
as to meet the celestial sphere. This imagi¬ 
nary axis of the earth, is as fixed and perma¬ 
nent, as if it were a bar of iron driven liter¬ 
ally through the earth, and extending out to 
the heavens in such a manner, that its extrem¬ 
ities should rest in sockets, and upon it the 
earth should revolve. Now follow me : take 
hold of this iron axle and heave it up, so as 
to change its position. What is the effect ? 
The equator is always perpendicular to this 
axle, and if we shift the latter in the slightest 
degree we will in like degree shift the plane 


of the equator; and this first circle of light, 
which we have supposed across the heavens 
—the equinoctial—is ever changed as you 
change the earth’s axis. And whatever 
change is exhibited in the position of the equi¬ 
noctial, in like manner, will be exhibited in 
the movements of that point called the pole 
of the heavens. But, in the process of time, 
we find that the point which the circle of the 
sun describes through space, intersecting the 
ecliptic, revolves entirely around ; and if that 
be the case, then must the earth, in like man¬ 
ner, be governed and guided by this move¬ 
ment and revolve entirely around the ecliptic. 
And such is the fact. No less than 25,860 
years are necessary to accomplish this mighty 
revolution ! But it is moving on; and, from 
the earliest period down to the present time, 
we find this motion has been subjected abso¬ 
lutely to the law of gravitation, and that all this 
complicated result is a consequence of the ob¬ 
late figure of the earth. Had our globe been 
an exact sphere, no precession of the equinox¬ 
es would have been known—no change of po¬ 
sition of the pole ever would have been mark¬ 
ed ; but from century to century, it would 
have held its place—permanent—unchangea¬ 
ble—fixed as the seal of fate. 

But for the explanation of the causes of 
these changes: The sun and the moon exert 
a constant force of attraction upon the earth, 
according to their masses and their distance. 
Were the earth a perfect sphere, the effect 
of these forces would be equable and produ¬ 
cing no perturbation in the earth’s move¬ 
ments ; but the prepondering matter heaped 
up at the earth’s equator, and standing in a 
position which brings it at an oblique angle to 
the forces of the sun and the moon produces a 
disturbance of the rotation and a tendency to 
draw down the equatorial ring to a coincidence 
with the plane of the ecliptic. But this force 
is counterbalanced by the rotary motion of the 
earth, and while the equatorial ring endeavors 
to revolve about an axis in its plane, it is also 
forced toward a revolution around an axis per¬ 
pendicular to that plane. The result is, it re¬ 
volves around neither of these axes, but on 
one which divides the angle between t^ie two; 
and by this revolution the pole of the earth is 
as it were vibrated, and describes a small cir¬ 
cle in the heavens. This nutation or vibration 
of the earth has the effect of retarding it in 
its orbit, so that at the end of the year it has 
not completed its journey around the sun, and, 
therefore, does not cross the ecliptic in exact¬ 
ly the same place it did before. The conse¬ 
quence is, the heavens and all the host of stars 
appear to us to be rolling slowly forward— 
that the equinox goes forward to meet the sun 
—and hence the term precession of the equi¬ 
noxes. The fact is, the earth falls short of 








ASTRONOMY. 


■■ — — * 

169 


her full revolution fifty-two and one tenth sec¬ 
onds in a year; and as there are 3,600 seconds 
in a degree, and 360 degrees in the great cir- 
1 cle of the ecliptic, it follows that 25,868 years 
must roll round, before the equinox will make 
a complete revolution of ecliptic, producing 
within that period the longest and shortest day 
in the year, on every day from the 1st of Jan¬ 
uary to the 31st of December. This surpri¬ 
sing effect is all produced by the comparative¬ 
ly insignificant superabundance of matter ag¬ 
gregated upon the earth’s equator. 

But let us look at another point. We find 
that the earth is not entirely solid, its surface 
is covered by a fluid, within certain limits— 
and the inquiry arises whether this fluid is 
stable !—whether there are fixed bounds be¬ 
yond which the ocean can not pass, or wheth¬ 
er it may not occur that under the influence 
of the combined action of the planets, tides 
may arise which shall sweep over and sub¬ 
merge the entire surface of the habitable 
globe ? I answer again, there are here provis¬ 
ions which mark the wisdom of Him who 
built the heavens. If it were possible to take 
up our ocean and to empty it into the cavity 
of the planet Saturn, no stability would ensue 
—the ocean would overleap the bounds to 
which we would attempt to confine it, and 
rush from one quarter to the other, carrying 
destruction in its path ; but, owing to the re¬ 
lations existing between the specific gravity 
of the earth and ocean, we find the stability 
here complete ; and although the action is go¬ 
ing on constantly—although the waves are 
caused to leap up in some sense, toward the 
moon and the sun, yet there is a limit beyond 
which they can not pass. 

There are many who find it exceeding dif¬ 
ficult to understand the nature of tides, and 
how it is that the moon and sun should pro¬ 
duce them. The heaving up of the water on 
the side next to the sun and moon, is a matter 
easily comprehended; yet how they should 
produce a tide on the opposite side, is quite 
mysterious. But let us examine this question 
and see whether an explanation can not be 
had. The cause of tides is the attraction of 
the moon upon the mass of water on the 
earth’s surface, drawing it upward toward it¬ 
self. If every particle were equidistant from 
the moon, then would the action be the same 
on every one, and there would be no change 
of figure; but the truth is, the earth’s diam¬ 
eter is a very sensible quantity, compared to 
the moon’s distance ; the distance of the moon 
is but thirty times the diameter of the earth: 
hence the water on the side next to the moon 
is closer than that on the opposite side, and 
hence there is a stronger attraction exerted 
upon that side nearest the moon. 

But to render the explanation more perfect, 


let us go back to the position we took some 
time since, with regard to the fact that the 
moon was ever falling toward the earth. 
This I have attempted to explain, and I hope 
it was comprehended. You will understand 
also, that the earth is always falling toward 
the moon, under the action of precisely the 
same power. Now if we could see a mass 
of fluid in the act of falling toward a body, 
we would observe the attracting body operate 
more strongly upon the particles next to itself, 
and draw them away from the rest, leaving 
them behind in their race to the centre; hence 
we see why it is that the waves next to the 
moon should be protuberant. But how is it 
that those on the opposite side are swelled 
out ? Because the earth being nearer the 
moon than the ocean on the opposite side, is 
drawn away toward the moon, and leaves the 
ocean behind ; hence it is protuberant in both 
directions. But I do not intend to go into a 
full exposition of the tides ; I must pass on to 
other matters. This has been a most difficult 
problem for the mathematician. The com¬ 
bined action of the moon and sun, and their 
coming in opposite directions, producing ex¬ 
traordinary changes—then the fact that these 
are not revolving in the same plane and not 
at all in the plane of the earth’s equator, 
causes them to sink on one side, and bear up 
upon the other side. In all the computations 
of these varying influences, the results have 
nearly coincided with the actual facts. 

I propose, in the next place, to examine ef¬ 
fects produced upon the moon’s orbit, by the 
disturbing action of the earth. And here I 
shall have occasion to reveal some extraordi¬ 
nary movements that belong to the whole sys¬ 
tem by which we are surrounded. There are 
certain elements, as they are called, which fix 
and determine the nature of the orbit of any 
heavenly body, in order to understand which 
it becomes necessary to explain what these 
elements are. 

In the first place, the elliptic orbit is a cer¬ 
tain figure determined by a longer diameter, 
called its longer axis , and a shorter called its 
shorter axis. When their lengths were given, 
the figure of the ellipse can be described. 
This is the first thing—to get the magnitude 
of the orbit—but when that is obtained, we 
do not yet know what location it takes with 
regard to other surrounding objects. In order 
to fix it in space, we must get the direction 
of this longer line called the longer axis. 
Now the sun is always located at the focus, 
and the distance of the sun to the extreme 
longer axis, is on one side the shortest, and on 
the other the longest possible distance. Hav¬ 
ing then, the position of that line and having 
the inclination to the fixed plane, we are en¬ 
abled to locate the orbit in space. We have 

"" " - " - ■ 








ASTRONOMY. 


170 


yet to obtain the periodical time, and not only 
the precise position of the planet in some one 
known point in its orbit, but the particular 
date ; after which we are enabled to follow its 
movements in all its wanderings. 

When we have accomplished this, the ques¬ 
tion arises : Are there no subsequent changes ? 
There are changes of a most curious and com¬ 
plicated kind, and which in the outset would 
seem to destroy absolutely the nature of the 
orbit, and lead to the ultimate destruction of 
the entire system. In the moon’s orbit, we 
find that the point nearest to the earth, called 
the moon’s perigee, is never fixed and perma¬ 
nent, but always varying its position, and 
finally performing an entire revolution. This 
is a point to which Newton directed his mind, 
attempting to account for the rapidity with 
which this line was revolving in the heavens 
upon the hypothesis of gravitation. He 
brought into account, as he supposed, every 
point that could bear upon the result, and 
when he reached it, he found the amount of 
change was not coincident with that actually 
exhibited in nature. Here the law of gravi¬ 
tation seemed at fault; and after many tedious 
efforts, this great man actually died without 
solving its mystery. It was taken up after¬ 
ward by his successors, and in every instance 
it seemed that Newton’s results were con¬ 
firmed most absolutely. It was finally given 
up to Clairaut, who grappled it with all the 
power of analysis ; but in spite of all he could 
do, he reached just the results attained by all 
his predecessors; and, for a moment, he de¬ 
clared it was impossible to account for this 
curious exhibition in the heavens. But strange 
as it may appear, an individual without edu¬ 
cation in astronomy, with simply a knowledge 
of mathematics, stepped forth, and ventured to 
defend the law of gravitation—and there was 
a long dispute between the two—one of them 
a metaphysical philosopher, and the other, one 
who had devoted his best energies to the cul¬ 
tivation of pure abstract science. Clairaut 
determined to prove himself right; reviewed 
his entire investigation, and finally in the ex¬ 
amination of a mathematical series, entering 
into the result, which at each successive term 
had grown less and less, till it seemed that 
they were absolutely to disappear, and he be¬ 
lieved they would disappear, and that the re- 
mai ling ones might be neglected; he found, 
on pur suing the problem a little further, that 
the character of the terms began to change, 
and instead of diminishing, they began to in¬ 
crease, so that when he had added together 
all the terms and completed the result, he 
found the law of gravitation was confirmed in 
the most absolute manner—theory and obser¬ 
vation coinciding precisely. 

I would call your attention to another single 


investigation, which has in like manner de¬ 
monstrated, not only how far the human mind 
can carry its researches, but how absolutely 
applicable this one solitary law, is to all the 
changes and phenomena which are exhibited 
by these heavenly bodies. I have already 
stated, that we have records of eclipses ex¬ 
tending back 2,500 years. Now, when we 
come to examine the velocity with which the 
moon was moving at that time, we find that 
it is not the same with which it is now mov¬ 
ing ; that it is actually in advance of the posi¬ 
tion it should occupy—on the hypothesis that 
its motion is uniform, and was accurately de¬ 
termined at that time—by an amount equal to 
nearly four times its diameter. It seemed 
impossible to account for this acceleration of 
motion. Every effort was made to reduce it 
to the law of gravitation; but it seemed to 
evade every attempt. Some were disposed 
to reject the early observations; others be¬ 
lieved that there was a resisting medium 
which impeded its motion, diminishing its dis¬ 
tance from the earth, and accelerating its mo¬ 
tion around the earth, describing a spiral line, 
and that slowly and surely it would at length 
approach our globe, and bring destruction to 
the whole svstem. 

In this dilemma, Laplace comes in to the 
rescue of physical astronomy. He took up 
this problem, and, with the aid of the accura¬ 
cy he had obtained in his previous investiga¬ 
tions, he finds himself able to master it, and 
not only to do this, but to tell the reason why 
it was, that this accelerated motion of the 
moon was going on. I will attempt his ex¬ 
planation. 

It is found, on examination of the elements 
of the orbits of the planets, that this longer 
axis, which has been described, is invariable 
—it never changes—while the shorter axis is 
subject to fluctuation, according to the config¬ 
urations of the heavenly bodies. It is found, 
that the earth’s orbit is changing its figure. 
It is now elliptical; but this is slowly disap¬ 
pearing. It has been going on for centuries, 
and must continue for centuries to come, till 
finally, the shorter axis becomes equal to the 
longer, the eccentricity of the orbit disappears, 
and the earth revolves in a perfect circle 
around the sun. When this point shall have 
been reached, analysis demonstrates the truth 
that a change begins, and the figure then cir¬ 
cular, slowly begins to come back again to 
its elliptical figure : and thus, in periods so 
great, that the human mind can not stretch 
sufficiently far, to comprehend them, we find 
these mighty oscillations sweeping backward 
and forward in the narrow limits within which 
Infinite Wisdom has confined them. 

But what effect should this change have 
upon the motion of the moon ? I will answer. 








ASTRONOMY. 


The moon is revolving about the earth, and 
its motion is impressed upon it. Now, if no 
other object existed outside the moon’s orbit, 
the earth would be able to draw the moon 
closer to itself, and impress upon it a central 
movement. But all the other heavenly bod¬ 
ies, are on the outside of the moon’s orbit, 
drawing it away from the earth, taking it 
partly from under the influence of the earth, 
and exerting their influence upon it. Hence, 
if it were possible to remove the earth and 
the moon further from these disturbing influ¬ 
ences, then will the moon come entirely under 
the influence of the earth, and its motion will 
be increased. Now this is the exact case in 
nature; it is precisely what is going on, in 
consequence of the changes on the figure of 
the earth’s orbit. Its orbit is becoming more 
nearly a circle, not bringing the moon so near 
the sun as it once did ; hence it is able now 
more effectually to master its own satellite, 
and thus impress upon it a more circular orbit. 

But is this to go on throughout eternity ? 
I answer, no. For when an orbit shall have 
attained a circular form, and begins to recede 
back to an elliptic figure, then will these 
changes again take place in the motion of the 
moon, and that which was once acceleration 
becomes retardation, and from the effect of the 
very same cause, the sun will begin to take 
hold of the moon, with greater and still great¬ 
er power. Now what the period of these 
changes may be—although possibly within 
the limits of calculation—we have not yet 
computed. One thing, however, we do know 
—they are not to be reckoned by hundreds or 
thousands—they must expand to millions of 
years before the exact conformation of the sys¬ 
tem can be brought about again. 

Though I have presented you demonstration 
upon demonstration, you will pardon me if 
I occupy a little more than my allotted time, 
in giving some account of the telescopic ap¬ 
pearance of the moon’s surface. Those, who 
for the first time, behold the moon’s surface 
through a powerful instrument, will always 
be disappointed in its appearance. There are 
mighty mountains on its surface; there are 
deep bleak cavities, some perhaps fifteen, 
twenty, forty, and even sixty miles in diame¬ 
ter and sinking below the surface, seven and 
eight thousand feet. Out of these, mighty 
rocks arise two thousand feet above the level 
of the valley, casting their deep black shad¬ 
ows upon the plains below. All these things 
are very fine ; and yet on looking at them 
through the telescope, for the first time, one 
is invariably disappointed. You can not see 
mountains as you see them in the highlands of 
New York: you can not see the gray rocks 
projecting so beautifully as you behold them 
on some earthly mountain height. Remem- 


171 


her after your telescope has carried you out 
as far as it can reach, there is yet a whole 
hundred miles to be overcome. So in spite 
of all you can do, and with all the aid you 
can bring, you are a hundred miles from the 
object. 

But do we know nothing of the moon? 
Are we so far off, that we can tell nothing of 
the characteristics of its surface ? I answer : 
We know that towering mountains lift their 
lofty heads, deep caverns yawn, and there are 
vast circular elevations, resembling the usual 
productions of volcanic action. And how do 
we determine these things ? By the lights 
and shadows which show themselves to the 
eye, we measure the height of these mount¬ 
ains, by remarking the relative position of the 
sun and the earth. We mark the extremities 
of their long deep shadows, and find that as 
the sun slowly rises, the shadows by degrees 
recede toward the base of the mountains; 
and, when noonday arrives, they entirely dis¬ 
appear. Then as the sun begins to decline 
on the other side, the same dark shadows are 
cast in the opposite directions. We watch 
these movements till we ascertain with per¬ 
fect certainty the character of the object 
which casts the shadow, and we measure its 
height. These are reliable facts. 

But the question next comes: How is it 
possible to measure the depths of those deep 
cavities ? It appears as if immense lakes 
had once filled them, and by some extraordi¬ 
nary means, the water had been evaporated, 
leaving the interior dry, hard, and sterile. We 
find these depths in like manner as we ascer¬ 
tain the height of mountains. When the 
sun is first rising, it casts its light into these 
cavities of the moon ; we see shadows cast by 
the sunward sides, and the limits of the cavi¬ 
ties are defined with a degree of accuracy sur¬ 
passing anything upon the surface of the 
earth. For the shadows are not here so black 
as upon yonder orb. They are mitigated and 
dispersed through the influence of our atmo¬ 
sphere. But on the moon there is no atmo¬ 
sphere, at least not such a one as will compare 
at all with ours. The moon’s atmosphere, if 
indeed it have one, can be no denser than the 
extremely rarified air left in the most perfect 
vacuum yet produced in an exhausted re¬ 
ceiver. It can not sustain animal life—it can 
not support clouds, nor can it sustain combus¬ 
tion. And for the reason that the moon lias 
no atmosphere, there is no gradual fading 
away of the light as the sun sinks deeper be¬ 
low the horizon—no soft, mild, and lovely 
twilight, such as sheds a holy serenity over 
our favored globe—but instantaneous and ap¬ 
palling darkness follows the setting of the sun, 
drear as the night of death; and broken—not 
by the “rosy-fingered morn,” slowly waxing 










-I 

172 SIERRA LEONE. 


from faint streaks of light, to the fullness of 
the day-spring—but startled from the very 
dppth of blackness by the lightning-flash of 
the sun’s meridian glory. 


SIERRA LEONE, 

Sierra Leone is a considerable country 
of Western Africa, on the Atlantic, distinguish¬ 
ed for the colony formed there by the British 
nation, rather from motives of philanthropy 
than from those of commercial advantage. 
It is traversed by a considerable river, called 
the Mitomba or Sierra Leone. Its name is 
derived from a ridge of mountains, which rises 
near the southern bank of the river. This 
country equals, in fertility and populousness, 
any other in this part of Africa. It consists 
generally of one vast, almost impenetrable 
forest, only particular spots of which have 
been cleared and cultivated. Rice is raised 
wherever the ground is sufficiently watered 
for its production, and forms the constant food 
of the rich ; but the poor content themselves 
with millet, yams, and plantains. There is a 
great abundance of the most delicate fruits. 
Elephants’ teeth and civet are brought to the 
coast. The woods and mountains are infested 
with wild animals, particularly lions, from 
the multitude of which the country appears 
to have derived its name. There are swarms 
of insects, flies, musquitoes, and particularly 
ants, the white species of which commit ex¬ 
traordinary devastation. The serpent species 
are also very numerous, and the rivers, be¬ 
sides yielding an ample supply of fish for 
food, contain large alligators, and the manata 
or sea-cow. 

The natives of this country are not of so 
deep black a complexion as those of Cape 
Verd, nor have they the flat nose of the negro 
race to such a degree, but the character of 
the different tribes varies very considerably. 
The Poftuguese were the first who discovered 
and formed settlements on the river Sierra 
Leone. Toward the close of the eighteenth 
century the British began to turn their views 
toward Sierra Leone, with a view to coloni¬ 
zation, for the more effectual abolition of the 
slave-trade, by raising up an African colony, 
whither the slaves might be sent as freemen. 
Lord Mansfield having decided, in 1772, that 
a slave who sets foot in Britain becomes free, 
a number of blacks in this country left their 
masters, and were wandering about in a 
desolate condition. Granville Sharp formed 
the plan of transporting them to Africa; and, 
the aid of the government having been ob¬ 
tained, they were landed, in 1787, upon a 


district purchased from the king of Sierra 
Leone. These negroes and the white females 
sent with them were mostly of indifferent 
characters, and a severe mortality ensued 
among them. In 1792, about 1,200 negroes, 
who had left their masters in the United 
States, during the revolutionary war, were 
also landed at Sierra Leone; and several 
years later the colony was increased by 550 
Maroons from Nova Scotia. Little progress, 
however, had been made in the objects for 
which the colony was formed, and, in 1807, 
it was surrendered into the hands of the crown. 
At the period, Great Britain received permis¬ 
sion from several powers to treat as pirates 
such of their subjects as should be found 
engaged in the slave-trade north of the line; 
and the liberated negroes seized by her cruis¬ 
ers were placed at Sierra Leone. For the 
first six months they receive a daily allowance 
from the government, after which lands are 
assigned them, and they are left to support 
themselves. The number thus liberated has 
been about 20,000; and although their wild 
and improvident habits have thrown many 
difficulties in the way of the benevolent ex¬ 
ertions of the British authorities, recent ac¬ 
counts give decided proofs of great improve¬ 
ments in the spirit and condition of the colon¬ 
ists. Freetown, the principal place of the 
colony, has an excellent harbor on the river 
Sierra Leone, about six miles from the sea, 
and upward of 6,000 inhabitants. Regent’s 
town, six miles south of Freetown, founded 
in 1816, has a population of 1,300; and in 
the vicinity are several villages, with a more 
distant stations of Waterloo, "Wellington, and 
Hastings. Bathurst, on the Gambia, is a 
settlement also connected with this colony. 

Our cut represents part of Regent’s town 
in the colony of Sierra Leone. It is inhabit¬ 
ed by negroes of many different nations in 
Africa, whom piratical dealers were carrying 
into slavery. The ships in which they had 
been crowded together were taken by the 
English cruisers, and the negroes set at liberty. 
Here, and in other towns in the colony, these 
injured negroes are placed in safety. 

On the right of the view, a part of the 
town is seen; it extends, however, a consider¬ 
able way further than is shown in our en¬ 
graving. It is laid out with regularity, pos¬ 
sesses several streets, and is inhabited by 
nearly 2,000 negroes old and young. A stone- 
bridge, built by the negroes, leads from the 
town to the side of the brook where the 
Principal buildings are. These consist chiefly 
of the church, the mission or parsonage house, 
and a house for the governor. These and 
other buildings are all of stone. This place 
is now a beautifully-cultivated and well-gov- 
1 emed spot; and yet, only a few years since, 











Part of Regents Town, a Settlement of Liberated Negroes in the Colony of Sierra Leone 











































































































































































































—.- 1 . 1 

174 THE AMERICAN CONTINENT. 


tlie whole was a wild desert. Another view 
of the town is presented on the opposite page. 

The climate of Sierra Leone forms so pe¬ 
culiar a feature of its geographical character, 
that we gladly avail ourselves of Major Rick- 
ett’s account, prefixed to his journal of the 
Ashantee war:— 

“On landing at Freetown, a stranger is not 
a little surprised to behold a place so far su¬ 
perior to what he had been induced to expect; 
and if he should arrive in the hermitan season, 
when resident Europeans are generally in bet¬ 
ter health than at other periods of the year, 
from its salubrious effects, he will be saluted 
with an agreeable smell, similar to that of new 
hay, and will wonder how it was possible the 
place could be so unhealthy as represented; 
but on the approach of the rainy season, his 
wonder begins to cease. 

“ The hermitan is a very dry easterly wind, 
which, in a few days, dries up all vegetation, 
except trees; it sets in about December, and 
continues at intervals for several days togeth¬ 
er : such is the nature of the hermitan, that 
the flooring of the houses, window-shutters, 
and other wood work, shrink and separate more 
than an inch asunder; the glass is broken, 
and the furniture is warped, but at the ap¬ 
proach of the rains, the open seams gradually 
close again. 

“After the absence of rain for many months, 
the parched surface of the earth, all its vege¬ 
tation, except trees, having been dried up by 
the hermitan, and then scorched by the in¬ 
tense heat of a tropical sun, is suddenly cov¬ 
ered with verdure. The day after the first 
shower, the force of vegetation is so great, 
that the face of nature is completely changed, 
and it may literally be said that the grass 
and weeds may be seen to grow; yet, how¬ 
ever strange it may appear, although these, 
as well as the indigo plant, grow spontaneous¬ 
ly everywhere, new land will not satisfactori¬ 
ly produce the usual articles of consumption 
for three successive years, and some land 
will not even yield the second year. The 
dry season is preceded by dry tornadoes, 
which, toward the latter end of May, are ac¬ 
companied by rain ; they last generally about 
an hour, sometimes not so long. They very 
much resemble the hurricanes in the West 
Indies, but are not so furious; they vary from 
southeast to northeast. A dark cloud in the 
eastern horizon foretells the approach of a 
tornado; it advances, accompanied by tre¬ 
mendous thunder and vivid flashes of light¬ 
ning, which at first are distant and faint, until 
the whole heavens gradually become obscured 
by one black cloud. It frequently happens 
that, from the quarter opposite to that where 
the cloud first appears, there previously arises 
a breeze, which dies away as the tornado 


gathers ; the atmosphere then becomes very 
sultry, and the tornado advances, with a great 
rush of wind, bursts, sweeping before it (if no 
rain has previously fallen) immense clouds of 
dust. The wet tornadoes are succeeded by 
a beautiful serene sky, and the air is greatly 
refreshed; the frame becomes invigorated, 
and the mind more cheerful. As the rainy 
season advances, the tornadoes gradually 
cease, and are succeeded by almost constant 
heavy rain ; at the termination of the rains, 
the tornadoes again make their appearance, 
becoming weaker as the dry season approach¬ 
es, until they cease altogether. 

“ At intervals during the day in the rainy 
season, the action of an intensely hot sun on 
the earth, covered with a luxuriant vegeta¬ 
tion, and saturated with moisture, produces a 
disagreeable sickening smell, which is prob¬ 
ably one of the causes of the fever that pre¬ 
vails at this period of the year, as persons 
recently arrived are generallv taken ill in July 
or August; some, however, liave been known 
to reside in the colony about two years with¬ 
out having been affected by it. If they re¬ 
main beyond this time, they are certain not 
to escape it much longer; and when at length 
they take the fever, it generally proves fatal 
to them. It is considered the more favorable 
symptom for a stranger to be seized with the 
fever soon after his arrival. The havoc which 
this dreadful disease has made among the 
Europeans who have gone out, or have been 
sent to the colony, is well known. On the 
first arrival of European troops, in 1825, they 
died in greater numbers than at any subse¬ 
quent period ; the cause was attributed much 
to the incomplete state of the barracks, which 
had been hastily erected, the materials arri¬ 
ving from England at the same time with the 
troops, the barracks could not, consequently, 
be covered in before the rains. From the 
want of accommodation on shore, most of the 
troops were kept on board the transports for 
some months. After the completion of the 
barracks, and the walls had become dry, the 
troops enjoyed better health, but they drank 
freely, and it was very difficult to keep them 
sober. This no doubt tended much to bring 
on sickness among them; the officers died, 
however, in proportion.” 


THE AMERICAN CONTINENT. 

Had not Columbus discovered America in 
1492, it would not have much longer remain¬ 
ed unknown to Europe, as the continent was 
found by Cabot, a Portuguese navigator, 
about 1500. He was on a voyage to the East 











Regent’s Town, Sierra Leone, from the Governor’s House. 
















































































































































































































































































THE AMERICAN CONTINENT. 


176 


Indies, but standing far to tbe west, be fell in 
with land ; being a portion of wliat is now 
called Brazil. By what may be called a 
“ singular coincidence,” this land lay within 
tbe limits assigned by the bull of Pope Alex¬ 
ander VI. to tbe Portuguese, when he parti¬ 
tioned worlds to be discovered or seized by 
Portugal and Spain. This was very annoy¬ 
ing to the Spaniards, who thus had to share 
the continent with another and a rival power. 
Thus, without detracting from the glory that 
justly belongs to Columbus, we see that acci¬ 
dent would have effected the great end, to the 
realization of which he devoted his life; so 
capricious are the decrees of fortune. 

The first person who visited the American 
continent, was John Cabot, a Venetian mer¬ 
chant, who resided in Bristol, England. He 
made the discovery in 1497, somewhere on 
the coast of Labrador. He was accompanied 
by his more famous son, Sebastian Cabot. 

So long ago as the reign of Philip II., it 
was proposed to cut a canal through the isth¬ 
mus at Panama, for ship navigation, and en¬ 
gineers were sent to examine the country. 
“ They, however,” says a Spanish writer, 
“ found the obstacles insuperable; and the 
council of the Indies at the same time repre¬ 
sented to the king the injuries which such a 
canal would occasion to the monarchy; in 
consequence of which, his majesty decreed 
that no one should in future attempt, or even 
propose, such an undertaking under pain of 
death.” The injuries feared were the intru¬ 
sion, as Spain considered it, of foreigners into 
the “ South sea,” and the consequent weak¬ 
ening of the monopoly she then had of that 
portion of the world. The only human ac¬ 
cess to the Pacific at that time from the west, 
was through the strait of Magellan, the diffi¬ 
culty of navigating which was great. In 
1666, eighteen years after the death of Philip 
II., the passage into the Pacific by the way 
of Cape Horn was discovered by two Hol¬ 
landers, named Lemaire and Van Schonten, 
who named the promontory after their native 
place. 

The first Englishman who entered the Pa¬ 
cific, was John Oxenham, who, in 1555, cross¬ 
ed the isthmus of Panama, at the head of a 
party of his countrymen, a body of semi¬ 
freebooters—built a ship, and made prizes of 
many Spanish ships. They were finally 
captured by the Spaniards, and most of them 
ignominiously executed at Panama. Drake 
was fortunate. He entered the Pacific by 
the strait of Magellan, and though he had 
but one small vessel—a schooner of a hun¬ 
dred tons, and sixty men, he inflicted great in¬ 
jury on the Spanish settlements, and com¬ 
merce. This was in 1578-’9. The third of 
these freebooters , as they called themselves, 


I was Thomas Cavendish, who, in 1587, rav¬ 
aged the western coast of America, and cap¬ 
tured among other vessels the Galleon, that 
was on her way from Manilla to Acapulco. 
These “gentleman-rovers” were the illustri¬ 
ous predecessors of the bucaniers of the next 
century, and held that there was “ no law be¬ 
yond the line.” 

The first expedition ever undertaken by 
the English expressly in search of a north¬ 
west passage in the Pacific, was sent out in 
1576, under the command of Martin Frobish¬ 
er, a celebrated navigator in an age abounding 
in daring and accomplished mariners. Sixty 
years before, Sebastian Cabot discovered 
Hudson’s strait. 

The name America was first applied to this 
continent, or division of the globe, in 1507, 
in a work published by one Martin Waldre- 
mullen, at St. Die, in Lorraine. The Span¬ 
iards never called their possessions by the 
name of America until about the middle of 
the 18th century. They gave them the name 
of the West Indies. The continent should 
be called Colonia, or Colonica, from the Ital¬ 
ian name of its discoverer. This would do 
honor and justice to both his name and race. 

The first person of the Anglo Saxon race, 
bom within the limits of the United States, 
was Virginia Dare. She was bora on the 
18th of August, 1587. Her parents belonged 
to the company sent over by Raleigh, and who 
possessed the colony of Roanoke. The name 
of Virginia was given her from that of the 
country in which the colony was situated. 
Her fate, together with that of the entire 
population of the colony, is unknown. All 
perished, and, as Bancroft beautifully has it: 
“ If America had no English town, it soon 
had English graves.” 

The French early reached this country, 
and, within seven years of the discovery of 
the continent, the fisheries of Newfoundland 
were known to the hardy mariners of Brit¬ 
tany and Normandy. In 1524, Verrazam, 
an Italian in the service of Francis I., ran 
along ahead the whole coast of North Amer¬ 
ica, to the 50th degree of latitude. He saw 
the harbor of what is now New York, and 
noted its convenience and pleasantness; and 
for fifteen days his vessel lay in the beautiful 
haven of Newport. Jaques Cartier was the 
first person who sailed up the St. Lawrence, 
which he did in August, 1534. The next 
year, he made a second voyage to the same 
quarter, and sailed up the river to the site of 
the present city of Montreal. He took pos¬ 
session of these regions for France. All the 
earlier attempts at colonization failed, and it 
was not until the beginning of the 17th cen¬ 
tury, that under the direction of the celebra¬ 
ted Champlain, they succeeded. 










12 


































































BIOGRAPHY OF JOHN W1NTHROP. 


178 


BIOGRAPHY OF JOHN WINTHROP, 

FIRST GOVERNOR OF MASSACHUSETTS. 

We know of nothing in the history of 
colonies marked with so many peculiarities, 
as the first settlement of New England. No 
others were ever founded for purposes strictly 
religious. Christian faith gave a tone to so¬ 
ciety that is still felt throughout the commu¬ 
nity. The belief of a special Providence di¬ 
recting all matters of government, and order¬ 
ing its changes, visiting vice with temporal 
calamities, and giving peculiar aid to right 
motives, seemed to bring man into more im¬ 
mediate communication with his Maker, and 
to inspire him with high resolves.* It was 
in this way that the colonists sustained them¬ 
selves through the difficulties and dangers 
which met them at every step, and 'which it 
was the daily, constant occupation of their 
lives to surmount. But for this principle, it 
would not be easy to understand fully the 
prevailing character of the early period of their 
history, and to judge aright of the principles 
which supported the fathers of New England 
in their struggles, situated as we are in the 
midst of ease and prosperity. Indeed the 
whole character of those who influenced and 
directed their councils, has never been cor¬ 
rectly estimated. By some it has been view¬ 
ed as a model for the present generation, pos¬ 
sessed of every virtue, without blemish or 
reproach. Others have seen nothing but bigo¬ 
try, hypocrisy, a spirit of persecution, gloomy 
superstition, and an absence of the social 
graces and virtues. Both of these views do 
violence to human nature, history, and truth. 
There is a manifest want of justice in deciding 
upon any portion of history in the abstract, or 
by views which are obtained in a more refined 
and cultivated state of society, where ques¬ 
tions of natural right are better understood. 
A more correct judgment may be formed by 
taking into the estimate the general state of 

* Our Pilgrim Fathers. —When our fathers fled 
from persecution in England, and sought an asylum 
in this country, they at first depended much upon the 
supplies of food from the mother-country. A com¬ 
pany of them having at one time gone to the sea¬ 
shore, after looking anxiously for a vessel which was 
to bring them corn, and being disappointed, hunger 
induced them to search among the pebbles for some¬ 
thing to satisfy the craving demands of nature.—And 
sincere was their gratitude to Him who *• openeth his 
hand and satisfieth the desire of every living thing,” 
when they found in the sand a kind of muscle, of 
which they partook, and found to be wholesome and 
nutricious. One day, after they bad finished a hearty 
meal of this kind, a venerable old man stood up and 
returned thanks, by blessing God that he had ful¬ 
filled to them the promise made to Zebulon, Deut. 
xxxiii, 19 : “ They shall offer sacrifices of righteous¬ 
ness, for they shall suck of the abundance of the seas, 
and of treasures hid in the sand.” 


society at the time, and any peculiarities in 
the combination of circumstances that go to 
form the aggregate. If we apply this rule to 
the early settlers of New England, we may 
lament the severities with which they visited 
differing shades of opinion and disrespect of 
authority, the readiness which they manifest¬ 
ed to believe that the calamities which befell 
the erring, and their enemies, were instances 
of the Divine indignation. We could wish 
that some things had been otherwise, some 
we would blot out; but we can not join with 
those who tread with contempt upon their 
ashes, and condemn the principal features of 
their character. They were no common 
men who guided the sufferers from the ven¬ 
geance of power to these shores. Virtue was 
strong ; religion found her votaries, who were 
willing to quit the hearths and altars, the re¬ 
finement and luxury of the old world, to erect 
temples to the Most High in the deep silence 
of our forests. We can not join in a general 
condemnation of those who fostered the good 
institutions that have descended to us; strength¬ 
ened them against the violence of opposition ; 
planted the seeds of liberty, now in full fruit; 
and cherished religion, till it became an es¬ 
sential element in the constitution of society. 
Surely it is some praise that they planted 
churches in every village; that, by the sys¬ 
tem of free schools, established in many towns 
so early as 1645, and by law in 1648, they 
sent the kindly influences of learning to the 
fireside of the humblest citizen ; and, to crown 
all, founded that venerable university, which 
for two centuries has' been the direct source 
of incalculable good to the people, and may 
be regarded as, in an important sense, the 
parent of many of the similar institutions in 
our land; and all this at a time when the 
people were few, and, b}*- reason of their pov¬ 
erty, were obliged, for # one year, to forbear 
laying the usual tax. 

From a general view of our early history, 
we are satisfied, that the fathers of New Eng¬ 
land were upright, intelligent, and pious men, 
whose main endeavor was to strengthen the 
colonies they had planted, according to their 
ability; and that even their errors, in most 
instances, Avere the result of good motives, 
and an ardent desire to promote religion, 
learning, purity, and all the best interests of 
the community. 

Governor Winthrop, 'the subject of this 
biography, was born at Groton, in Suffolk, 
England, June 12, 1587; and was descended 
from an ancient and honorable family. His 
grandfather was an eminent lawyer, in the 
reign of Henry VIII., and attached to the 
reformation. His father was of the same pro¬ 
fession, and the governor himself was bred 
a lawyer, in which character he was eminent 










BIOGRAPHY OF JOHN WINTHROP. 179 


for both integrity and abilities.. Indeed, he 
must have had the fairest reputation, for he 
was appointed a justice of the peace at eigh¬ 
teen years of age. 

When the design of settling a colony in 
New England was undertaken, Mr. Winthrop 
was chosen, with general consent, to conduct 
the enter}(rise. His estate, amounting to the 
value of six or seven hundred pounds sterling 
a year, he converted into money, and em¬ 
barked his all to promote the settlement of 
New England. When he left Groton he was 
in the forty-third year of his age. He ar¬ 
rived at Salem with the Massachusetts char¬ 
ter, June 12, 1630. 

To no one are we more indebted than to 
Winthrop, not only for the manifold good 
which he did in his own day, but also for the 
history he has left us of the early transactions 
in church and state in New England, and 
especially in Massachusetts. His work, 
which, as we gather from him, was intended 
for publication and for posterity, was left by 
him in manuscript, in three parts. These had 
all been in the hands of Hubbard, Mather, 
and Prince, who it seems, had derived more 
assistance from them than they were ready to 
acknowledge. The first two parts, bringing 
the history down to 1644, were published at 
Hartford in Connecticut, in 1790. The third 
part was discovered in the tower of the old 
South church in Boston, in 1816. On colla¬ 
ting the manuscript of the first two parts with 
the printed volume, the latter was found to 
contain many errors; and the whole work has 
been published by the Massachusetts Histori¬ 
cal Society, with the assistance of the legis¬ 
lature of that state ; the third part had never 
before been published. It continues the his¬ 
tory down to the time of his death. Much 
interesting matter, and many important facts, 
are contained in this part. Of these, are re¬ 
lations of the various discussions between the 
magistrates and deputies relative to their 
respective powers; an account of the synod 
that met at Cambridge to establish the platform 
of church discipline and government; a de¬ 
fence against the charges which were raised 
to the prejudice of the colonists, by their ene¬ 
mies, and preferred before the commissioners 
in England. These all serve to fill up the 
delineation of the character of the fathers of 
New England to the middle of the seventeenth 
century. 

The contents of Winthrop’s “ History of 
New England,” are so various, that it is dif¬ 
ficult to make an extract that will do justice 
to the author. But we select at a venture 
his “little speech,” as he terms it. In 1645, 
when he was deputy governor, he was singled 
out from the rest of the magistrates, who 
had acted with him, to defend the legality 


of his proceedings, in committing to prison 
certain persons in Hingham, who had been 
concerned in some disturbance of the peace, 
and who refused to find sureties for their ap¬ 
pearance at court. The day of Winthrop’s 
trial came, and he declined taking his seat 
upon the bench. Speaking of himself, as he 
does throughout, in the third person, he says: 

“ The day appointed being come, the court 
assembled in the meetinghouse at Boston. 
Divers of the elders were present, and a great 
assembly of the people. The deputy govern¬ 
or, coming in with the rest of the magistrates, s 
placed himself beneath, within the bar, and ; 
so sats uncovered. Some question was in 
court about his being in that place (for many 
both of the court and assembly were grieved 
at it). But the deputy telling them, that, 
being criminally accused, he might not sit as 
a judge in that cause, and if he were upon the 
bench, it would be a great disadvantage to 
him, for he could not take that liberty to plead 
the cause, which he ought to be allowed at 
the bar; upon this the court was satisfied.” 

Winthrop was fully and honorably acquitted 
of all the charges brought against him. The 
governor (Dudley) read the sentence of the 
court. “ Then was the deputy governor de¬ 
sired by the court to go up and take his place 
again upon the bench, which he did accord¬ 
ingly, and the court being about to arise, he 
desired leave for a little speech, which was to 
this effect:— 

“ I suppose something may be expected 
from me, upon this charge that is befallen 
me, which moves me to speak now to you; yet 
I intend not to intermeddle in the proceedings 
of the court, or with any of the persons con¬ 
cerned therein. Only I bless God, that I see 
an issue of this troublesome business. I also 
acknowledge the justice of the court, and, for 
mine own part, I am well satisfied, I was 
publicly charged, and I am publicly and legal¬ 
ly acquitted, which is all I did expect or de¬ 
sire. And though this be sufficient for my 
justification before men, yet not so before the 
God, who hath seen so much amiss in my dis¬ 
pensations (and even in this affair) as calls 
me to be humble. For to be publicly and 
criminally charged in this court, is matter of 
humiliation (and I desire to make a right use 
of it), notwithstanding I be thus acquitted. 

If her father had spit in her face (saitli the 
Lord concerning Miriam), should she not have 
been ashamed seven days ? Shame had lien 
upon her, whatever the occasion had been. 

I am unwilling to stay you from your urgent 
affairs, } r et give me leave (upon this special 
occasion) to speak a little more to this assem¬ 
bly. It may be of some good use, to inform 
and rectify the judgment of some of the people, 
and may prevent such distempers as have 










BIOGRAPHY OP JOHN WINTHIIOP. 


ISO 


arisen amongst us. The great questions that 
have troubled the country, are about the 
authority of the magistrates and the liberty 
of the people. It is yourselves who have 
called us to this office, and being called by 
you, we have our authority from God, in way 
of an ordinance, such as hath the image of 
God eminently stamped upon it, the contempt 
and violation whereof hath been vindicated 
with examples of divine vengeance. I en¬ 
treat you to consider, that, when you choose 
magistrates, you take them from among your¬ 
selves, men subject to like passions as you 
are. Therefore when you see infirmities in 
us, you should reflect upon your own, and 
that would make you bear the more with us, 
and not be severe censurers of the failings of 
your magistrates, when you have continual 
experience of the like infirmities in yourselves 
aud others. We account him a good servant, 
who breaks not his covenant. The covenant 
between you and us is the oath you have 
taken of us, which is to this purpose, that 
we shall govern you, and judge 3 r our causes 
by the rules of God’s laws and our own, ac¬ 
cording to our best skill. When you agree 
with a workman to build you a ship or house, 
&c., he undertakes as well for his skill as for 
his faithfulness, for it is his profession, and 
you pay him for both. But when you call 
one to be a magistrate, he doth not profess 
nor undertake to have sufficient skill for that 
office, nor can you furnish him with gifts, 
&c., therefore you must run the hazard of his 
skill and ability. But if he fail in faithfulness, 
which by his oath he is bound unto, that he 
must answer for. If it fall out that the case 
be clear to common apprehension, and the 
rule clear also, if he transgress here, the error 
is not in the skill, but in the evil of the will; 
it must be required of him. But if the cause 
be doubtful, or the rule doubtful, to men of 
such understanding and parts as your magis¬ 
trates are, if your magistrates should err here, 
yourself must bear it. 

“For the other point concerning liberty, I 
observe a great mistake in the country about 
that. There is a twofold liberty, natural 
(I mean as our nature is now corrupt) and 
civil or federal. The first is common to man 
with beasts and other creatures. By this, 
man, as he stands in relation to man simply, 
hath liberty to do what he lists; it is a liberty 
to evil as well as to good. This liberty is in¬ 
compatible and inconsistent with authority, 
and can not endure the least restraint of the 
most just authority. The exercise and main¬ 
taining of this liberty make men grow more 
evil, and in time to be worse than brute 
beasts: omnes suinus licentia deteriores. This 
is that great enemy of truth and peace, that 
wild beast, which all the ordinances of God 


are bent against, to restrain and subdue it. 
The other kind of liberty I call civil or federal, 
it may also be termed moral, in reference to 
the covenant between God and man, in the moral 
law, and the politic covenants and constitu¬ 
tions, amongst men themselves. This liberty 
is the proper end and object of authority, and 
can not subsist without it: and it is liberty 
to that only which is good, just, and honest. 
This liberty you are to stand for, with the 
hazard (not only of your goods, but) of your 
lives, if need be. Whatsoever crosseth this, 
is not authority, but a distemper thereof. 
This liberty is maintained and exercised in a 
way of subjection to authority ; it is of the 
same kind of liberty wherewith Christ hath 
made us free. The woman’s own choice 
makes such a man her husband; 3 'et being 
so chosen, he is her lord, and she is to be sub¬ 
ject to him, yet in a way of liberty, not of 
bondage; and a true wife accounts her sub¬ 
jection her honor and freedom, and would not 
think her condition safe and free, but in her 
subjection to her husband’s authority. Such 
is the liberty of the church under the author¬ 
ity of Christ, her king and husband ; his 3 r oke 
is so easy and sweet to her as a bride’s orna¬ 
ments ; and if, through frowardness, or wan¬ 
tonness, &c., she shake it off, at any time, she 
is at no rest in her spirit, until she take it up 
again; and, whether her lord smiles upon her, 
and embraceth her in his arms, or whether 
he frowns, or rebukes, or smites her, she ap¬ 
prehends the sweetness of his love in all, and 
is refreshed, supported, and instructed, by ev¬ 
ery such dispensation of his authority over 
her. On the other side, 3 r e know who they 
are that complain of this 3 T oke, and say, ‘ Let 
us break their bands, &c., we will not have 
this man to rule over us.’ Even so, brethren, 
it will be between you and your magistrates. 
If you stand for your natural corrupt liberties, 
and will do w r hat is good in your own eyes, 
you will not endure the least weight of au¬ 
thority, but wall murmur, and oppose, and be 
always striving to shake off that yoke; but if 
you will be satisfied to enjoy such civil and 
lawful liberties, such as Christ allows you, 
then will you quietly and cheerfully submit 
unto that authority which is set over 3 t ou, in 
all the administrations of it, for your good. 
Wherein, if we fail at any time, w'e hope w r e 
shall be willing (by God’s assistance) to 
hearken to good advice from any of you, or 
in any other way of God ; so shall your liber¬ 
ties be preserved, in upholding the' honor and 
power of authority amongst you.” 

It is a very full evidence of the esteem in 
which he w r as held, that, when many gentle¬ 
men of character, some of them of noble al¬ 
liance, were concerned in the same under¬ 
taking with him, he, by a general voice, was 














BIOGRAPHY OF JOHN WINTHROP. 


1S1 


The Death Bed of Winthrop. 


placed at tlieir head. He says himself, in 
his excellent journal, which is indeed a treas¬ 
ure to all who revere the memory of their 
ancestors: “I was first chosen to be govern¬ 
or without my seeking or expectation, there 
being then divers other gentlemen, who, for 
their abilities, every way were far more fit.” 

He was eleven times chosen governor, and 
spent his whole estate in the public service. 
His son John, and his grandson, Fitz-John 
(who was a captain in Col. Reed’s regiment 
at the Restoration in 1660), were successively 
governors of Connecticut colony, and Wait- 
Still, another grandson, was chief justice of 
Massachusetts. Stephen, another son of the 
elder Winthrop, went to England in 1645 or 
1646, had the command of a regiment, and 
succeeded Harrison in his major-generalship, 
was a member of parliament for Scotland in 
1656, and was much trusted by the Protector. 
The family, in every generation, have occu¬ 
pied high stations, and been deservedly held 
in great respect. Its character is now most 
worthily sustained by the Hon. Robert C. 
Winthrop, the distinguished and eloquent 
speaker of the house of representatives, in 
the United States’ Congress; and the Hon. 
David Sears, of Boston. This latter gen¬ 
tleman has been repeatedly a member of the 
legislature of Massachusetts, as both repre¬ 
sentative and senator, between the years 1816 


and 1826. Governor Winthrop died March 
26, 1649, in the 62d year of his age, and 
was buried April 3d, in the northern corner 
of the King’s chapel burying-ground. We 
may truly say of him, as he finely said of the 
husband of Lady Arabella Johnson, “ He was 
a holy man and wise, and died in sweet 
peace.” He conducted himself with such ad¬ 
dress and unshaken rectitude, as to render 
his character universally respected among 
his contemporaries, and his memory dear to 
posterity. In his magnanimity, disinterested¬ 
ness, moderation, and harmonious character, 
the father of Massachusetts reminds us of the 
great “father of his country,” and is the only 
name in our history worthy to stand as a 
parallel to Washington. 

“ How shall we mourn thee ?—with a lofty trust, 

Our life’s immortal birthright from above ! 

With a glad faith, whose eye, to track the just, 
Through shades and mysteries lifts a glance of love, 
And yet can weep ! for nature thus deplores 

The friend that leaves us, though for happier shores. 
<• Praise ! for yet one more name with power endowed, 
To cheer and guide us, onward as we press; 

Yet one more image, on the heart bestowed, 

To dwell there, beautiful in holiness ! 

Thine, Winthrop, thine ! whose memory from the 
dead, 

Shines as the star which to the Saviour led.” 







































































































































































182 


BIOGRAPHY OF JOHN WINTHROP. 


THE WINTHROP FAMILY TOMB, IN KING’S CHAPEL BURYING-GROUND, 

THE MONT STREET, BOSTON. 

This ancient Monument originally had inscribed on it the Epitaph which is given 
below; but it is said that the letters having become nearly obliterated by time, or injured 
by accident or design, during the Revolution, the stone was replaced by another, which 
bears the names and ages of the members of the family as follows:— 

JOHN WINTHROP, 

GOVERNOR OF MASSACHUSETTS, 

Died 16 4 9. 

Major-General 

WAIT STILL WINTHROP, 

Died September 1th , 1717. Aged 76 Years . 

ANN WINTHROP SEARS, 

The Wife of David Sears, 

Died Oct . 2d , 1789. Aged 33 Years. 

Here also rest the remains of John Winthrop, first Governor of Connecticut, 
[eldest son of John, the Founder of Boston, and first Governor of Massachusetts.] 
tie died at Boston, 5th April, 1676. 

Fitz-John Winthrop, his son, Governor of Connecticut, died at Boston, 27th 
November, 1707. 

Thomas L. Winthrop, Lieutenant-Governor of Massachusetts, died 22d 
Feb. 1840. 


STAND TRAVELLER, 

And admire ye Tomb, 

And to ye Public Tears add your own, 

Bewail ye public Loss, 

If of ye publick you are part. 

This place is a Prince’s Court 
Rather than a Tomb. 

This marble covers dust 
Worthy to be enclosed in Gold. 

Four WINTHROPS lie buried in this Tomb, 

Who were sufficient to enrich ev’n ye four quarters of 
ye Earth. 

He is unacquainted with ye history of New England 
Who is ignorant of this Family, 

And he has no regard for Universal Virtue 
That does not highly value it. 

The last of these 
here Interr’d 

Was Wait Winthrop, Esqr 
Whose last Honour was this, 

That he was Governour of New England, 

He was, alas! he was 
Of New England, ye glory & Defence, 

The Light and Stay. 

Major-General of Massachusetts Colony, 

Of a noble yet peaceful disposition, 

And who for his Country and for Peace could die. 
President of ye Council for ye Province, 

Whose chiefest care it always was 
That ye Commonwealth might receive no damage; 
And in whom many died. 

Chief Judge, 

Who paid an equal regard to Justice & Clemency. 
He went thro’ ye most honourable 
Stations in ye Government, 


And adorn’d ye Honours w’ch he bore, 
Deserving those he bore not. 

A person of ye most undissembled piety 
And unspotted probity, 

Of an exalted yet a modest Genius. 

He placed all things beneath himself, 
Himself beneath all men. 

Benevolent tow’rds all, 

And most so tow’ds ye poor & needy. 
Injurious to none not even to enemies; 

An enemy to none, 

Ev’n tho’ highly provok’d. 

No unhappy person was by him rejected, 
Nor poor one refus’d admittance, 

Nor did any go away displeas’d. 

He was skillfull in physick, 

And being possessed of Golden Secrets, 
Indeed more valuable than Gold itself, 

And having obtained Universal Remedies, 
Which Hippocrates & Helmont never knew, 
All that were sick where e’er he came 
He freely restor’d to health, 

And made almost his whole study of Nature 
Subservient to Medicine. 

He that under this stone now sleeps in death, 
Still lives in ye hearts of thousands 
Whose lives he has prolonged. 

The merits of Winthrop with Him 
Oblivion shall not bury. 

He was born ye 27th day of December 1641, 
Died ye 7th day of September 1717, 

In ye 76xth year of his age. 

They who value Life & still enjoy It, 
Wish’d him a Thousand years continuance here, 
An age exceeding that of Methusalem. 








THE SOVEREIGNS OF EUROPE. 


183 


THE SOVEREIGNS OF EUROPE. 

Eight of the twenty monarclis are protest- 
ants ; nine are Roman catholics: two are of 
the Greek church, and one is a Mohammedan. 
Those belonging to the Greek church are the 
emperor of Russia and the king of Greece. 
Four of them are of irreproachable charac¬ 
ters. Many of them are as respectable as our 
public men whom we delight to honor. The 
queens are all of spotless character, which 
could not have been said of former times. 

The king of Prussia is a decidedly pious 
man. Several of the queens are true Chris¬ 
tians, as I think, and among these is the 
queen of Franee. She reads many religious 
books. As to talent, Louis Philippe, king of 
the French, the king of Prussia, and the em¬ 
peror of Russia, are admitted to rank first, 
and Louis Philippe stands pre-eminently 
above all. He was educated at a French col¬ 
lege, spent many years in foreign lands, and 
then sixteen in quietly pursuing his studies. 
Talleyrand said he had no idea of his vast ac¬ 
quirements, before he was minister, after he 
became king. He speaks English with ease, 
and never pronounces but one word wrong, 
which is ice, which he calls liice. He said, 
he and his brother hired a boat at Pittsburgh, 
to go down the river, but was obstructed by 
the hice. This he had learned from the Eng¬ 
lish cockneys, when he lived in England. 
He has no minister who is equal. 

The king of Prussia is nearly the equal of 
Louis Philippe ; he speaks English well, but 
not so well as the king of the French. He is 
a self-made man. He was not allowed to get 
his education at the German universities, as 
he desired, as it was thought degrading to the 
king’s son, to associate with other young men. 
He regrets to this day, that he was not per¬ 
mitted to go to the university, and associate 
with the students. The king of Sweden grad¬ 
uated at college, and is a fine scholar. 

The king of Prussia is not popular. He is 
too good a man for that. He proposes too 
many reforms, and pushes them forward with 
too much energy to please the people. 

The emperor of Russia is not inferior in 
talent; but he came unexpectedly to the 
throne at the age of twenty-seven or twenty- 
eig’at years—his brother, the lawful heir to 
the throne, having abdicated in his favor. He 
has had no time to read. Being a resolute 
monarch, his duties are most arduous. He is 
most devoted to public affairs. I spoke to 
him aoout temperance societies, when he be¬ 
gan to make the same objections which were 
once so common here—that brandy was ne¬ 
cessary for laborers to give them strength, and 
protect them in heat and cold. He however, 
at once perceived the force of my arguments, 


admitted their correctness, and said, “As for 
the revenue we will let it go, and get a reve¬ 
nue somewhere else.” Nicholas is very deci¬ 
ded and independent. 

A nobleman of great wealth and talent had 
governed his brother Alexander. When Nich¬ 
olas came to the throne, in less than three days 
he came to see him unasked. Nicholas said 
to him, “ Who asked you to appear before 
me ? I know how you governed my brother, 
and imposed upon his meekness. I give you 
three days to arrange your affairs in St. Pe- 
tersburgh, after which time you will retire to 
your country-seat;” which he did, and has re¬ 
mained there ever since. 

The king of Sweden is a literary man, and 
is the author of several books. Pie gave me 
a copy of his work on prison discipline, just 
published. The king of Plolland is not so 
popular; he is an old man, about forty-four. 
He w r as distinguished at the battle of Water¬ 
loo, and badly wounded. The king of Den¬ 
mark is a man of fair talents, but of no decis¬ 
ion of character. [Since this account was writ¬ 
ten, the king here referred to has died, and 
Frederick VII. has succeeded to the throne. 
His first acts have been liberal, and give 
promise of a good and enlightened sovereign.] 

The manners of the princes are polished, 
easy, and simple. Such is the character of 
the nobles of Europe, whom I have seen. 
They are, how r ever, more formal to diplo- 
masts. There is more difficulty to get along 
with our distinguished men, who sometimes 
assume a tone of haughtiness, which I never 
saw in a prince. The monarchs ordinarily, 
and their queens, dress in the same plain way 
as other well-bred people. In public, they 
of course appear in splendor. The queens 
wear on ordinary occasions very little jewelry. 

In the families of the emperor of Russia, 
and the king of the Frenclr, there is great af¬ 
fection.—R. Baird. 


MORAL CHARACTER OF THE MONKEY, 

A gentleman whose premises were infest¬ 
ed by a large breed of sparrows, said they 
wer e birds of no principle. Of all monkeys 
it may be said, with much more propriety, that 
they are beasts of no principle : for they have 
every evil quality, and not one good one. 
They are saucy and insolent; always making 
an attempt to bully, and terrify people, and 
biting those first who are afraid of them. An 
impertinent curiosity runs through all their 
actions; they never can let things alone, but 
must know what is going forward. If a pot 
or a kettle is set on the fire, and the cook turns 











154 MORAL CHARACTER OF THE MONKEY. 


Tier back, the monkey whips off the cover to 
see what she has put into it; even though he 
can not get at it, without setting his feet upon 
the hot bars of the grate. Mimicry is anoth¬ 
er of the monkey’s qualities. Whatever he 
sees men do, he must affect to do the like 
himself. He seems to have no rule of his 
own, and so is ruled by the actions of men or 
beasts; as weak people follow the fashion of 
the world, whether it be good or bad. No 
monkey has any sense of gratitude, but takes 
his victuals with a snatch, and then grins in 
the face of the person that gives it to him, 
lest he should take it away again; for he sup¬ 
poses that all men will snatch away what they 
can lay hold of, as all monkeys do. Through 
an invincible selfishness, no monkey considers 
any individual but himself, as the poor cat 
found to her cost, when the monkey burned 
her paws with raking his chestnuts out of the 
fire. They can never eat together in com¬ 
pany without quarrelling and plundering one 
another. Every monkey delights in mischief, 
and can not help doing it, when it is in his 
power. If anything he takes hold of can be 
broken or spoiled, he is sure to find the way 
of doing it; and, he chatters with pleasure, 
when he hears the noise of a china vessel 
smashed to pieces upon the pavement. If he 
takes up a bottle of ink, he empties it upon 
the floor. He unfolds all your papers, and 
scatters them about the room, and what he 
can not undo, he tears to pieces; and, it is 
wonderful to see how much of this work he 
will do in a few minutes when he happens to 
get loose. Everybody has heard of the mon¬ 
key whose curiosity led him to the mouth of a 
cannon to see how it went olf; when he paid 
for his peeping with the loss of his head. In 
a ship, while the men were busy in fetching 
powder from below, and making cartridges, a 
monkey on board took up a lighted candle, 
and ran down to the powder-room to see what 
they were about; but happily was overtaken 
just as he got to the lantern, and thrown out 
at the nearest port-hole into the sea, with the 
lighted candle in his hand. Another lost his 
life by the spirit of mimicry ; he had seen his 
master shaving his own face, and at the first 
opportunity, took up the razor to shave him¬ 
self, and made shift to cut his own throat. 
When the wild monkeys have escaped to the 
tops of trees, the people below who want to 
catch them, show them the use of gloves, by 
putting them on and pulling them off repeat¬ 
edly ; and when the monkeys are supposed to 
have taken the hint, they leave plenty of 
gloves on the ground, having first lined them 
with pitch. The monkeys come down, put 
on the gloves, but can not pull them off again; 
and when they are surprised, betaking them¬ 
selves to the trees as usual, they slide back¬ 


ward and are taken. A monkey who had seen 
his mistress upon her pillow in a nightcap, 
which at her rising, she pulled off and hung 
upon a chair, puts on the cap, lays his head 
upon the pillow, and by personating the lady, 
made himself ten times more frightful and 
ridiculous; as awkward people do, when they 
ape their superiors, and affect a fashion which 
is above their sphere. A mischievous dis¬ 
position is always inclined to persecution. 
There are minds whose greatest pleasure it is 
to ride and tease the minds of other people. 
A gentleman in the country kept a monkey, 
who took to riding his hogs, especialty one of 
them, which he commonly singled out as fit¬ 
test for his use ; and, leaping upon its back, 
with his face toward the tail, he whipped it 
unmercifully, and drove it about till it could 
run no longer. The hogs lived under such 
continual terrors of mind, that when the mon¬ 
key first came abroad in the morning, they used 
to set up a great cry at the sight of him. A 
well-known nobleman once had a wild horse, 
whom nobody could ride. “ I know not what 
your lordship can do with him,” said one, 
“ but to set the monkey upon his back.” So 
they put a pad on the horse, and set the mon¬ 
key upon it with a switch in his hand, which 
he used upon the horse, and set him into a 
furious kicking and galloping ; but Pug kept 
his seat and exercised his switch. The horse 
lay down upon the ground; but when he 
threw himself on one side, the monkey was 
up on the other ; he ran into a wood with him 
to brush him off'; but, if a tree or a bush oc¬ 
curred on one side, the monkey slipped to the 
other side ; till at last the horse was so sick¬ 
ened, and fatigued, and broken-spirited, that 
he ran home to the stable for protection. 
When the monkey was removed, a bo}' mount¬ 
ed him, who managed the horse with ease, 
and he never gave any trouble afterward. In 
all the actions of the monkey, there is no ap¬ 
pearance of anything good or useful, nor any 
species of evil that is wanting in them. They 
are, indeed, like to mankind ; they can ride a 
pig as a man rides a horse, or better, and are 
most excellent jockeys; but after all, they are 
only like the worst of the human species. If 
all the qualities of the monkey were put to¬ 
gether, they constitute what is properly called 
ill-nature ; and, if any person would know 
what an ill-natured man is, that man is a mon¬ 
key to all intents and purposes, with the ad¬ 
dition of reason, which makes his character 
much worse, and the loss of religion and con¬ 
science, which is worst of all; for without 
these, reason is rather a disadvantage. 

Life. —The advantage of living does not 
consist in length of days, but in the right im¬ 
provement of them. 


















TRAVELS IX THE HOLY LAND. 


185 


Present Appearance of Jerusalem. 


TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND—N°. 5. 

BY HARRIET MARTINEAU. 

Our last view of Jerusalem was very fine. 
We looked back from a ridge on the northern 
road, and saw it lying, bright and stately, on 
its everlasting hills ; but it looked lower than 
from most other points of view, from the Moab 
mountains forming its lofty background. We 
descended the slope before us, and lost sight 
of the holy city for ever. 

Again we were struck with the vivid color¬ 
ing of the scenery. All this day, the hills 
were dressed in brilliant hues : the soil, red, 
gray, and brown; the tilled portions of the 
brightest green; and the shadows purple or 
lilac. All the hills show traces of having been 
once terraced ; and they were still completely 
so in the neighborhood of our encampment this 
evening—the terraces following the strata of 
the stone, which all lay slanting. This gives 
a singular air of wildness to the most cultiva- 
ted spots. Here and there were basins among 
the hills, the red soil dropped all over with 
fig and olive-trees, or full of corn: and the 
upland tracks winding among slopes all strewn 
with cistus, iris, cyclamen, and anemones, and 
bristling with tall flowering hollyocks. On 
we went, past deep old wells yawning in the 
hollows, or stone cisterns where the cattle 
were crowding to drink ; past a few camels 
here and there, browsing in the dells; past 
groups of Arabs with their asses, carrying com 
to the city; past stone villages crowning the 
steeps, till at 6 p. m., we encamped beside a 
beautif ul old pool. We were under the shelter 


of a rock whose moist crevices were fringed 
with delicate ferns. While dinner was pre¬ 
paring, I went back on our road —the narrow 
stony road which wound round the verdant 
promontory opposite to our rock—to find a 
honej'suckle which I had seen climbing and 
blossoming to a great height: and I brought 
back a charming handful of flowers. 

While we where at dinner in the tent, a 
sound of scuffling was heard outside; and when 
our dragoman next entered, he was out of 
breath. We afterward heard the whole story, 
and were amused to find how zealous our Mo¬ 
hammedan servants could be in the cause of 
Christians. Some Arabs, with their loaded 
mules, had come with the intention of encamp¬ 
ing beside the pool: and, on finding the ground 
partly occupied, though there was plenty of 
room left, they became abusive, and wonder¬ 
ed aloud what business these cursed Christians 
had in their country. Our dragoman resented 
this, and threw the speaker down over the 
tent-ropes. There was then a stout scuffle, 
and our cook coming to help, and the Arabs 
falling one upon another over the tent-pegs in 
the dark, they had the worst of it, and went 
otF vowing vengeance. We heard no more 
of them, however. 

The next morning, we saw the Mediterra¬ 
nean, like a basin of deep blue water between 
two hills. We were not going toward it, how¬ 
ever, but to Nablons, the ancient Sychar; 
where lies that Jacob’s well, at which the 
woman of Samaria was wont to draw water. 

Our road lay through a most fertile valley 
now called Hawarrah, where the crops were 
splendid for miles, and the villages were thick- 

















































186 TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 



Terrace Cultivation. 


ly planted on the hills. The ground rose in 
a series of table-lands, of which there was a 
succession of three, when we were leaving the 
rich Hawarrah valley. The roads in this 
part of the holy land were mere lanes full of 
stones between walls, or tracks through olive 
grounds and meadows, or paths running along 
shelves of the rocks, with a bit of rocky stair¬ 
case at each end, about ascending or descend¬ 
ing which our good horses made no difficulty. 

Before entering the valley where old Sychar 
lay between the mountains Ebal and Gerizim, 
we came to the fine fertile parcel of ground 
which Jacob bought. The valley opens out 
into this wide basin; and near the junction of 
the valley and the basin is the old well which 
is the supposed scene of the conversation of 
Jesus with the Samaritan woman. Some of 
our party wound round the base of the hill to 
the well; and some (and I for one) rode by 
the upper path, over the shoulder of the hill, 
and came down on the other side. I had thus 
a fine view of the whole locality ; of the val¬ 
ley where the city lies—a narrow valley, rich 
with fig and olive-groves, and overhung by 
the rocky bases of Ebal and Gerizim, where 
the square black entrances of tombs dotted the 
strata of the rocks. From this height, Jacob’s 
land looked a beautiful expanse. The well 
is a mere rough heap of stones, with a hole in 


the middle, nearly closed up. What there is 
below-ground, I can not say; but this is all 
that is to be seen on the surface. It is not a 
well likely to be in use now, for there are 
many springs and shallow' cisterns (though no 
well) between this and the town, which lies 
about a mile and a half off. 

Everybody knows that the Jews had no 
friendly dealings with the Samaritans in the 
time of Jesus. The quarrel had then lasted 
above 500 years. How many suns had gone 
down upon their wrath! The Samaritans 
had wfished to assist the Jews in rebuilding 
the temple of Jerusalem: but the Jews hated 
them as a mixed race, and would not admit 
that they had any right to share in temple 
worship, or any other Jewish privileges. It 
really was a most serious objection to the 
Samaritans, that they were of a mixed race ; 
not only because the Jews believed that they 
held the promises on the very ground of the 
purity of their race; but because the inter¬ 
marriages of the former Samaritan Israelites 
with Assyrians and others disposed them to 
idolatry, or at least to a worship as mixed as 
their race. So the Samaritans were excluded 
from the rebuilding of the temple, above 500 
yearsB.C. And not being permitted to help, 
they did all they could to hinder. About 100 
years after, they obtained leave from the Per- 

















































Mounts Ebal and Gerizim. 
































































































































































































































































































































































188 TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 


si an court (to which both the Jews and they 
were subject), to built a second temple to 
Jehovah; and they build it on MountGerizim. 
This was a shocking impiety in the sight of 
the Jews ; and it was the occasion of a num¬ 
ber of lax-minded Jews, who had broken the 
law, by marrying heathen wives, or other¬ 
wise, and who yet wished to worship Jehovah 
in the temple, resorting to Sychar, to join the 
Samaritans, and render their race yet more 
mixed. This was the quarrel which the 
woman of Samaria referred to when she spoke 
of the question, whether “ men ought to wor¬ 
ship in this mountain or in Jerusalem !” and 
thus is explained her wonder that Jesus, being 
a Jew, should ask water of her who was a 
Samaritan. There was also a quarrel about 
their Scriptures; the Jews insisting to this 
day, that the Samaritans had altered two or 
three texts, relating to these two mountains, 
Ebal and Gerizim, in their own sacred copy 
of the books of Moses; the Samaritans in¬ 
sisting, of course, that theirs was the true 
copy. 

From my early youth, I had always taken 
a strong interest in this old quarrel, feeling 
sympathy with both parties, and a keen de¬ 
light in the wise and soothing words of Jesus 
concerning it. What a truth it was for both 
parties to hear, that God was now to be wor¬ 
shipped everywhere ; and that all places were 
henceforth to be as sacred as the Jerusalem 
temple, or the mountain at Sychar! And 
what a lesson in liberality it was to the Jews 
when he gave honor to the Samaritan in the 
parable, on account of his good works, above 
the sacred priest and the servant of the tem¬ 
ple at Jerusalem. Both parties were, of 
course, wrong in their fierce anger : but each 
had much to plead on his own side. The 
Jews were bound to keep their race and wor¬ 
ship pure; and held, as an essential matter of 
faith, that Jehovah would have but one dwel¬ 
ling-place ; which was their view of their 
temple. And the Samaritans were surely 
right in persisting in their endeavor to worship 
Jehovah, in accordance with the laws of Moses, 
as they did not believe in strange gods ; and, 
if the Jews could not admit them to worship 
in the temple at Jerusalem, they could not be 
blamed for building one for themselves. 

Such was always my view of the matter : 
and such being my view, it was with inde¬ 
scribable interest that I looked this day upon 
Mount Gerizim, and remembered that some¬ 
where in the city we were approaching, was 
treasured that sacred copy of the Samaritan 
Pentateuch (books of Moses) which the pos¬ 
sessors believe to be the true one, and to be 
3,500 years old. The most learned men 
among the Christians do not believe it to be 
nearly so old as that: but they have a high 


opinion of its value, and would follow it sooner 
than any other, I believe, excepting instances 
where the disputed texts about Ebal and Ger¬ 
izim are concerned. 

The present inhabitants of the city hate the 
Christians as heartily as the old inhabitants 
used to hate the Jews. The present inhabit¬ 
ants are Mohammedans of a most bigoted 
character ; and they would admit neither Jews 
nor Christians within their gates, till within 
a few years; when the government of the 
country (then Egyptian) compelled them to 
better manners. They dared not refuse us 
admission; but they behaved with great in¬ 
solence. We had to ride from end to end of 
the city, our tents being pitched on a green 
on the other side. Our horses had to go as 
slowly as possible through the narrow street, 
which would not hold two abreast, and was 
paved with large slippery stones. As we 
rode along, one behind another, at this funeral 
pace, all the people came out to stare, and 
many to mock. Three times, things were 
thrown in my face ; men and women laughed 
and sneered, and children thrust out their 
tongues. I felt what a lesson this was to in¬ 
tolerance about matters of opinion. These 
people hold a faith which is very noble and 
beautiful. Few of us know how noble and 
beautiful is the Mohammedan faith. And 
there is no need to say what their visiters 
thought of the Christian faith as they hold it: 
and yet, what a scene of hatred and misun¬ 
derstanding was here! And thus it is, but too 
often, in the streets of other cities, where men 
ought to know better than to despise each other 
for worshipping the same God in a different 
manner. In the streets of other cities, men 
take upon themselves to pity and despise one 
another, with no better knowledge in reality 
of one another’s views and feelings, than these 
Mohammedans had of ours, or we of theirs. 

At last, we were through! and glad I was 
to issue from the gate at the further end. But 
a sad sight awaited us there. A company of 
lepers were under the trees, crying out to us 
for charity, and stretching out their maimed 
hands. It is a terrible sight, which we see 
too often in that country. It saddened us at 
Jerusalem, almost every day. 

Our tents were pitched on a weedy plot of 
ground, among gardens, orchards, and rippling 
streams, and looking up to Ebal on the one 
side, and Gerizim on the other. Ebal is still 
the sterner-looking mountain of the two; but 
Gerizim has lost much of its fertility. Both 
have tombs and votive buildings on them, 
which show them to have been places of pil¬ 
grimage. 

After dinner, we ascended a height, past the 
Mohammedan cemetery, whence we had a fine 
view, in the last sunlight, of this most beauti- 












TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 189 


ful city. It was once the capital of Samaria; 
and it is still, and must ever be, from its situa¬ 
tion, a very striking place. It completely fills 
the valley, from side to side, and ascends a 
little way up the skirts of Gerizim. Its houses, 
with their flat white roofs, are hedged in by 
the groves which surround the town : vines 
spread from roof to roof, and from court to 
court; two or three palms spring up in the 
midst, and higher aloft still, a graceful minaret 
here and there. 

Then, to my delight, we descended to seek 
the Samaritan synagogue. We were guided 
to it, and I saw nearly all the Samaritans of 
the place; good-looking people, the men wear¬ 
ing the high, helmet-like turban which we see 
in the portraits of Josephus, and other old Jews. 
They said their number was sixty in this place, 
and about forty more elsewhere—only a hun¬ 
dred in the whole world. They declared their 
chief priest and the rest of their sect to be at 
Genoa. They keep three great, feasts in the 
year, going up Gerizim as the Jews used to 
go up to the temple. 

The synagogue was a small, ordinary-look 
ing chapel, within a curtained recess of which 
is kept the old copy of the Pentateuch. It 
was shown to us, after some entreaty oil our 
part; but I found it was impossible that I 
could be allowed to touch it. 

I felt it a great event to have seen it. It is 
written on a sort of vellum, in the Samaritan 
text, clear, small, and even. The vellum is 
tattered : but it is well mounted on parch¬ 
ment. The priest himself dares not touch 
the MS. without careful purification; and 
he holds it by the ends of the rollers on which 
it is fixed as a scroll, like the copies of the 
Jewish law in synagogues. 

We were lighted through the archways of 
the street, on our way home, and down the 
hill, by a single candle which burned steadily 
in the still air. 

Our employment this evening was reading 
aloud the history of the Jewish and Samaritan 
controversy, and the fourth chapter of the 
gospel of John. While we were thus read¬ 
ing in our tent, the jackal was in full cry on 
the slopes of Gerizim. 

We passed the night of the 14th of April 
in our tents, just outside the town of Jenin. 
Our dragoman had warned us of the thievish 
character of the people of this neighborhood, 
so that we had an eye to such of our property 
as was lying about while the tents were pre¬ 
paring. The governor called, had coffee, and 
appointed four guards: so that we supposed 
ourselves safe from robbery. But in the 
morning the best mule was gone: and the four 
guards declared themselves wholly unable to 
say when, how, and by whom, the animal was 
set loose from its fastenings and carried ofl. 


Our departure was delayed : the governor was 
sent for ; and a pretended inquiry was made : 
and this gave me opportunity to walk about 
for an hour after breakfast—through the little 
town, through an orange grove where every 
tree was white with blossom ; and up a neigh¬ 
boring hill, whence I saw, to my surprise, a 
snowy mountain peak to the northeast. This 
was the summit of Gebel Sheikh—the mount¬ 
ain which closes in the north end of the valley 
of the Jordan, and then joins on to the range 
of Antilibanus. From my point of view, I 
could see too the beautiful plain of Esdraelon 
which we were to traverse this day; and the 
hills to the north which enclosed Nazareth, 
where we hoped to sleep this night: and to 
the west, some tokens of the rise of a line of 
hills which we should soon see swelling into 
Mount Carmel, where we were to go to-mor¬ 
row. What a prospect lay before both eye 
and mind ! 

Our dragoman told us we might make our¬ 
selves easy about our mule. He had no doubt 
it was in some stable in the town. We should 
be asked to leave a muleteer behind, and in a 
day or two the animal would be delivered to 
him, with a demand of a few piastres for the 
trouble of finding the mule on the mountains. 
It is probable that matters stood exactly so, 
for the muleteer followed in two days with 
the beast, having paid fourteen piastres for 
the trouble of finding it! 

Thus far, we had travelled only among hills 
and along valleys; and to-day we heartily en¬ 
joyed our ride over the rich plain of Esdraelon. 
It was fertile and flowery from end to end; 
and the young partridges ran under the very 
feet of my horse. Small birds flitted in mul¬ 
titudes on every side; and tall cranes stood 
among the high grass. The Carmel range 
grew upon the sight, as we had expected; 
and the blue hills of Galilee closed in the view 
northward. Little Mount Hermon rose on 
our sight: and on its north acclivity lay the 
village of Nain. A round hill, dropped over 
with old oaks, was Mount Tabor. Villages 
were well placed on such rising grounds as 
there were amidst the plain : and our track 
lay, broad, level, and green, among rows of 
tall artichokes and patches of rich cultivation. 

When about two thirds of the way over, 
we crossed the great caravan track from Egypt 
to Damascus. We had been to Egypt, and 
we were going to Damascus; but we did not 
follow this track. We held on northward, to 
the Galilean hills. 

We entered among these hills about an 
hour before we reached Nazareth, winding up 
and down, and round the base of one, and the 
shoulder of another, sometimes among scatter¬ 
ed wood, sometimes over stony tracts, and 
always in sight of many goats. After mount- 











190 


TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 



Mount Carmel. 


ing a very steep pass, and coming to a well, 
and winding round a bill once more, we came 
suddenly in sight of pretty Nazareth. Its 
basin of fertility is charming—its little plain, 
full of gardens and groves and fields, surround¬ 
ed, as it seemed, completely by hills. The 
town is in fact a poor one ; but, built of stone, 
and covering a good deal of ground, and ex¬ 
tending a little way up the western slopes, it 
looks well from above. 

Here, then, we had before our eyes the 
scenery amidst which Jesus grew up. Its 
character can not have changed very much 
since his day. A fertile basin among the 
everlasting hills, and the primitive little town 
which they protect, must bear much the same 
aspect from age to age. The great addition 
is the convent and church of the Latin monks: 
but these buildings do not stand out offensive¬ 
ly to the eye ; but mingle well with the flat- 
roofed stone houses of the town. In this 
convent we had to take up our abode. We 
longed to pitch our tents on the green below 
the town: but there was apprehension of 
rain, and it was thought better to go under 
the convent roof; which is truly a hospitable 
one. 


I do not know what it is about the services 
of this church which is so affecting to strangers: 
but I observe that all travellers speak of the 
strong emotions excited here. Few believe 
that the places under the church are what they 
are said to be. Few believe that the little 
caves shown by the monks are the kitchen 
and sitting-room of the parents of Jesus; and 
that the spots marked out by two granite pil¬ 
lars are those where Mary and the angel stood 
at the time of the annunciation. I do not at 
all believe that these places were thus con¬ 
secrated : yet I have seldom been so moved 
as I was this afternoon in the church of the 
annunciation at Nazareth. AVe were at least 
in the place of residence of Jesus, and saw 
what he saw every day; the hollows of the 
valleys, the outlines of the hills, the streams 
in.their courses, and the wild flowers which 
everywhere on the slopes spread under foot. 
We were in the place which he called home. 
Entering the church with these impressions 
on our minds, we were saluted with a chant 
from a lull choir; a chant sonorous, swelling, 
and exact; the best music, incomparably, that 
I heard abroad. It told upon our very hearts. 

Of course, we visited the rocky recesses 
























































































TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 


191 



Nazareth. 


below the church which are called the abode 
of Joseph and Mary; and saw no reason to 
suppose that, while citizens of Nazareth, they 
lived in a grotto, rather than a house. We 
were shown too a portrait of Jesus, which the 
monks believe to have been copied from an 
original taken in his lifetime !—as if there had 
been portrait-painting of that kind in those 
days ! and a9 if the Jews would have con¬ 
sidered it lawful if they had! Such ignorance 
on the part of the monks prevents our relying 
on any traditions given by them: and I will 
therefore say nothing of the other places point¬ 
ed out as sacred by them. Nazareth itself is 
sacred enough; and it is merely offensive to 
one’s feelings to speak of some of the strange 
stories the monks tell, and really believe, 
about Jesus and his family, in exhibiting what 
they declare to be the scenes of his life and 
daily actions. 

The next day, the uppermost feeling through¬ 
out was of delight at the thought of the natur¬ 
al beauty amidst which Jesus was reared. 
From the heights above the town we looked 
down into dells full of verdure; and abroad 
over the rich plain we had crossed the day 
before, and over toward Carmel, where we 
were going to-day. We rode among the hills 
for two hours, observing that clumps of forest 
trees became more frequent, and that the 
scenery was changing its character: and then 
we entered upon a tract which w r as so like the 
outskirts of an English nobleman’s park that 
I could hardly believe we were in the holy 
land. Rich grasses covered the slopes and 
levels, and clumps of ilex wooded every re¬ 
cess. We wound along under these clumps, 


and along the glades of the scattered forest, 
and up broken banks, and then again through 
reaches of chequered shade. And how could 
we help thinking at every step who had once 
been here before us ! 

We were almost sorry to leave these park¬ 
like hills, through we were descending into 
the plain of Zabulon, and Carmel was before 
us, and we were about to cross the old river 
Kishon which Elijah knew so well when he 
lived in this region; and the blue sea was in 
sight; that sea from which Elijah’s servant 
saw the cloud arise which was no bigger than 
araan’s hand. 

We rode at the foot of Carmel, keeping 
the river Kishon for the most part on the right 
hand. There could not be a finer place of 
assemblage than this plain for the children of 
Israel, and the worshippers of the sun (Baal) 
when Elijah summoned them to meet. From 
the foot of Mount Cannel, which stands out 
boldly into the sea, the beach stretches north¬ 
ward in a fine sweep of fifteen miles to Acre, 
and the old Tyre. The plain of Zabulon, 
thus enclosed between the Galilean hills, Car¬ 
mel, and the sea, held the assembled multitude 
on that great day. The worship of the sun 
was very imposing in all the countries where 
it subsisted. We have all heard of it as the 
worship of Apollo in Greece. I saw mighty 
temples to the same god, under the name of 
Ra, in Egypt and Nubia; and under the name 
of Baal at Baalbec—a few days’ journey from 
this place at the foot of Cannel, where his 
hosts of priests were defied by Elijah (1 Kings 
xviii.) Here stood his four hundred and fifty 
prophets, in all their pomp. 
























Promontory of Mount Carmel. 








































































































































































































































































































































































































f 


POWER OF MUSIC. 193 


Next we ascended the mountain itself; and 
we spent two nights in the convent on its 
heights; so that the whole scene is well im¬ 
pressed on my memory. We went down the 
mountain-side that afternoon, to sec the caves 
where the schools of the prophets used to be; 
where the young men were gathered together 
to learn what was known of religion, and to 
prepare themselves for its administration. 
Whether the principal cave was really thus 
occupied or not, some use was certainly made 
of it in ancient times. We found it a large 
square grotto; a spacious apartment in the 
mountain side—cool, shadowy, and solemn. 
All about its entrance, and over all that side 
of the mountain, from the beach below to the 
convent on the height, was a perfect jungle 
of hollyocks, ilex, odoriferous shrubs, herbs 
of many savors, and wild flowers as gay as 
the rainbow. Dry and drooping was all this 
vegetation when Elijah came hither at the end 
of the long drought, and cast himself doM'n 
upon the earth while his servant watched on 
the ridge above. But oh! what an expanse 
of sky and of blue sea was there for the man’s 
eye to range over while looking for a token 
of approaching rain ! To-day there was not 
in all the sky a cloud so big as a man’s hand: 
but instead of a cloud, there was, at evening, 
the everlasting sign of the silver bow. When 
the sun had sunk beneath the waters, and left 
a golden glow on both sea and sky, the young 
moon hung in the west yet a little while be¬ 
fore the mild spring night veiled from my 
watching eyes “ the excellency of Carmel.” 


POWER OF MUSIC. 

It has been justly said that music had no 
mortal artist for its inventor; it was implant¬ 
ed in man’s nature, as a pure and heavenly 
gift, by the great Creator himself. Of all the 
fine arts, it alone comes home to every heart. 
The uncultivated rustic, who would feel less 
pleasure in contemplating the Apollo of Belvi- 
dere, than in gazing at one of the coarse-paint¬ 
ed plaster-of-Paris figures hawked through 
the streets of our cities, and would turn from 
one of the finest of Titian’s paintings, to ad¬ 
mire some flaring sign over a country inn, is 
alive to the tones of music, and can feel all 
his sympathies awakened by a tender or a 
lively air. Music is so much a part of our 
nature, surrounds us so completely in this vo¬ 
cal world of ours, that its influence begins at 
the cradle, and only ends at the grave; it has 
even been conceived to make a part of the : 
enjoyment in a happier state of existence. | 


There is a sweet harmony even in inanimate 
nature—the measured flow of the waters, the 
j regular rushing of the tide, the wintry gust 
sighing through the woods, or the summer 
breeze rustling the leaves, and the sweet 
echoes returned from rock to glen, or breath¬ 
ing in melting cadence along the waters— 
which gives the listener a feeling as if he 
were admitted to a communion with the un¬ 
seen world. 

When we consider the music of the anima¬ 
ted world, the singing of birds, the hum of in¬ 
sects, the lowing of cattle, it seems reasona¬ 
ble to ask whether this melody is meant for 
the delight of man alone ? Though his organs 
may be more delicately adapted for musical 
sounds, and his feelings more exquisitely alive 
to them, yet we may still believe that the low¬ 
er creatures, participate in some degree in the 
enjoyment—a belief that may be more readily 
granted, from the innumerable instances on 
record, of the pleasure which music has ap¬ 
peared to give them. We are told that musi¬ 
cal sounds have wonderful power over the 
stag, exciting complacency, if not rapture ; 
and that his enemies frequently employ the 
shepherd’s pipe to lure him to destruction. 
Mr. Playford mentions that he met a herd of 
stags, consisting of about twenty, on the road - 
following a bagpipe and a violin. So long as 
the instruments were played, the stags went 
forward; when the music ceased, they stopped. 
In this way they travelled from Yorkshire to 
Hampton Court. The excitement of horses 
and of hounds, when they hear the hunter’s 
horn, is well known. Stephanus states that 
he saw a lion leave its prey to listen to music. 
There is a remarkable instance of the delight 
which a flock of sheep and some goats took, 
in listening to the flute, mentioned in the life 
of Haydn. A party of young people were 
enjoying themselves one summer’s day on the 
side of a mountain near Lake Maggiore. One 
of the party took out his flute and began to 
play. The sheep and goats, which were fol¬ 
lowing each other toward the mountain, with 
their heads bent downward, raised them at 
the first sound of the flute, and all advanced 
in haste to the spot, from which the music 
proceeded. By degrees, they flocked around 
the musician, and listened in motionless delight. 
He ceased playing, but the sheep did not stir. 
The shepherd with his staff obliged those that 
were nearest to him to go on ; but when the 
flute-player began to perform again, the flock 
returned to him. The shepherd became im¬ 
patient, and began to pelt them with clods, to 
force them to move, but not one of them would 
stir. The shepherd enraged with them, 
whistled, scolded, and finally pelted them with 
stones. Such as were struck passed on, but 
those who were not, refused to stir. The 


13 


















194 POWER OF MUSIC. 


shepherd had at length to entreat the musi¬ 
cian to cease, before he could get his Hock to 
move ; but whenever he resumed the instru¬ 
ment, they would stop at a distance to listen. 

It is said by Goldsmith and others, that the 
elephant appears delighted with music, and 
very readily learns to beat time, to move in 
measure, and even to join his voice to the 
sound of the drum and trumpet. Not long 
since, an officer in the English army mentioned, 
that at Gibraltar, the monkeys used to come 
forward to listen to the military bands, and 
during the time of their performance, would 
seat themselves on a wall to listen, retiring as 
soon as the music was over. It is w r ell known 
that there have been dogs, which evinced the 
greatest pleasure when they have heard mu¬ 
sic. The story of the dog at Rome, which 
went by the name of the Opera Dog, from his 
regular attendance at the opera, is well au¬ 
thenticated ; many witnessed his raptures, and 
have seen him when he could not gain admit¬ 
tance to the theatre, stand with his ear close 
to the wall, to catch the sounds. Some have 
evidently distinguished airs, testifying more 
delight at some than others. Mr. Chambers 
states that his father had a cat. unlike many 
of her kind—which seem heedless of all mu¬ 
sic, but their own purring—for she evinced 
the most extraordinary feeling, whenever she 
heard the song of “Mary’s Dream.” It was 
frequently and most sweetly sung, by a gen¬ 
tleman, who was sometimes a guest in the 
house. Poor puss would listen with rapt 
attention till she heard, “ Sweet Mary, weep 
no more for me !” when she became excited 
to an extraordinary degree, mewing most pit¬ 
eously. Had we believed in the transmigra¬ 
tion of souls, we should most assuredly have 
thought that “ sweet Mary,” was again an in¬ 
habitant of this world, in the shape of a sleek 
tabby cat. It has been said, that even the 
wild antelope has been known to come out of 
the woods to listen to music. A party of 
choristers experienced surprise one evening, 
when they were enjoying themselves on the 
banks of the Mersey. As they sat upon the 
grass, they joined in an anthem; and after a 
while, as they sang, they perceived a hare 
come from an adjoining wood, and stop within 
about twenty yards of them, turning her head 
with evident pleasure to catch the sound of 
the music. When the singing ceased, the 
hare went back toward the wood. When she 
had nearly reached it, the singing was resumed. 
She stopped, turned round, and hurried back 
to the spot where she had before remained to 
listen : here she stayed in evident delight, as 
long as the music continued. When it was 
over, she walked slowly across the field, and 
disappeared in the wood. In Mexico, it is 
absolutely required that the swineherd should 


have a musical voice, that he may sing when 
the pigs quarrel, which has the effect of sooth¬ 
ing them, and lulling them to sleep at the 
proper time, which greatly promotes their fat¬ 
tening. The gushing of the wind, and all 
sounds, it is well known have a great effect 
upon these creatures. We lately observed in 
the streets of New York, a number of dogs, 
dancing correctly some of the most difficult 
waltzes, to the tunes played by their master. 
Snakes can be tamed by music : it is said that 
even when irritated by pain or hunger, they 
can be soothed by a plaintive air. Sir Wil¬ 
liam Jones heard from a person, on whose ve¬ 
racity he could rely, that he had often seen 
the most venomous, and malignant snakes, 
leave their holes upon hearing tunes upon the 
flute. It is thus the Indians free the houses 
which are infested by snakes; the sound of 
the flute entices them out from their hiding- 
places where they lurk. It is said that when 
the negroes search for lizards, which they 
make use of for food, they attract them bv 
whistling an air. We may almost credit the 
powers of the lyre of Orpheus, when we read 
of a gentleman confined in the Bastile, who 
begged the governor to permit him the use of 
his lute, to soften by the harmonies of his in¬ 
strument, the rigors of his prison. At the 
end of a few days, he was greatly astonished 
while playing on his lute, to see peeping out 
of their holes great numbers of mice; and, 
descending from their woven habitations, 
crowds of spiders, which formed a circle about 
him, while he continued breathing his soul- 
subduing instrument. When he ceased to 
play, the assembly, who did not come down 
to see his person, but to hear his instrument, 
immediately broke up. As he had a great 
dislike to spiders, it was two days before he 
ventured to touch his instrument again. At 
length having, for the novelty of his company, 
overcome his dislike of them, he recom¬ 
menced his concert, when the assembly was 
by far more numerous than at first. Thus is 
this anecdote given in the “ Curiosities of Lit¬ 
erature,” and has often been reprinted. It 
may fairly be credited, when we recollect that 
bees, when flying away, will lag behind if 
they hear any tingling sound, and their flight, 
when about to swarm, can be effectually ar¬ 
rested by the sound of a bell, near which they 
will settle themselves. Bullfinches can be 
taught to warble an air with the most aston¬ 
ishing precision. Sir William Jones states 
on good authority, that when a celebrated lu- 
tanist was playing to a large company in a 
grove, near Shiraz, the nightingales were dis¬ 
tinctly seen trying to vie with the musician ; 
sometimes warbling on the trees, sometimes 
fluttering from branch to branch, as if they 
wished to approach the instrument; and at 










POWER OF MUSIC. 195 


length dropping on the ground in a kind of 
ecstasy, from which they were soon raised by 
a change in the measure. If music has such 
charms for the lower creatures, well may its 
influence be great over the human race, whose 
sensibilities, fond associations, and tender rec¬ 
ollections can be awakened by its witching 
spell ? It indeed mingles itself with all our 
pursuits; it quiets the child in its cradle, as 
the nurse sings her soothing lullaby; it rou¬ 
ses the patriot’s zeal; it stirs up the spirit 
to revelry, or raises it to devotion; it exhil¬ 
arates intercourse, and lightens labor; sweet 
is the milkmaid’s song as she plies her task ; 
its cadence falls alike soothingly upon her 
own ear, and upon that of the cow who sup¬ 
plies her pail. There is in the chorus of the 
“ yo-ho,” of the sailor, as he labors in his vo¬ 
cation, that which makes it lighter. 

Itinerant venders of goods, have set their 
proffered sale to regular notes, so that the dif¬ 
ferent articles which they carry, are known 
long before the words which accompany the 
cadence are heard. We were much amused 
lately, when reading “ Letters from a Gentle¬ 
man in the North of Scotland, to his Friend 
in London,” written before 1730, with an ac¬ 
count of the manner in which music accelera¬ 
ted the harvest-work. He says, “ When 
there are any number of women employed, 
they all keep time together, by several tones 
of the voice, and stoop and rise together as 
regularly as a rank of soldiers when they 
ground their arms. Sometimes they are inci¬ 
ted to their work by the sound of a bagpipe ; 
and by either of these things proceed with 
great alacrity, it being disgraceful for any one 
to be out of time with the sickle.” They 
use the same means when thickening the new- 
woven plaiding, which is done by six or eight 
women, sitting upon the ground, near some 
river or rivulet, in two opposite ranks, with 
the wet cloth between them : “ their petti¬ 
coats are tucked up, and with their naked feet 
they strike one against another’s, keeping ex¬ 
act time, as above-mentioned ; and among 
numbers of men employed in any work that 
requires strength and joint labor, as the 
launching of a boat or the like, they must 
have the piper to regulate their time.” Trav¬ 
ellers, in passing through the southern states, 
must have often remarked the slaves light¬ 
ening their labors by chanting some simple 
melody in concert. To keep time seems 
a natural propensity: why it should be 
so, may yet be determined by philosophers. 
It would be beyond our limits to point out one 
instance in a hundred, that we could enumer¬ 
ate ; but in everything we hear (though it 
ma} r pass without our observing it) there is a 
kind of measure, and this often suggests sub¬ 
jects to musical composers. A favorite air 


imitated the yelping of dogs so exactly, that 
it could not be heard without the resemblance 
being perceived. One of the most delightful 
compositions was suggested by the regular 
strokes of the blacksmith’s hammer against 
the anvil. Sir Charles Bell, in his admirable 
treatise on the hand, observes—“ The divis¬ 
ions of the time in music in some degree de¬ 
pend on the muscular sense. A man will put 
down his staff in regulated time : and in his 
common walk, the sound of his steps will fall 
into measure. A boy striking the railing in 
mere wantonness, will do it with a regular 
succession of blows. This disposition in the 
muscular frame to put itself into motion with 
an accordance to time, is the source of much 
that is pleasing in music, and assists the ef¬ 
fect of melody. The closest connection is 
thus established between the employments of 
the sense of hearing, and the exercise of the 
muscular sense ; the effect of disorders of the 
nervous system, is sometimes to show how 
natural certain combinations of actions are in 
the exercise of the muscular frame.” Sir 
Charles Bell, illustrates this observation by a 
curious case of a young woman who had nev¬ 
er been able to learn a common country-dance, 
yet, when under the influence of a morbid 
mental excitement, in association with the 
organs of voluntary motion, began to exercise 
involuntary movements not unbecoming an 
opera-dancer. “At one time she would pace 
slowly round the room, as in a minuet, with a 
measured step, the arms carried with elegance; 
at another time she would stand on the toes 
of one foot, and beat time with the other; on 
some occasions she would strike the fable, or 
whatever she could reach, with her hand many 
times, softly, and then with force. At length 
it was found that she did everythingin rhythms. 
A friend thought that in her regular beating he 
could recognise a tune, and he began singing 
it. The moment this struck her ears, she 
turned suddenly to the man, danced directly 
up to him, and continued to dance until she was 
quite out of breath. The cure of this young 
woman was of a very unusual kind. A drum 
and fife were procured, and when a tune cor¬ 
responding to the rhythms of her movements 
was played, in whatever part of the room she 
was, she would dance close up to the drum, 
and continue dancing until she missed the step, 
when these involuntary motions instantly 
ceased, and the paroxysm ended. The physi¬ 
cian, profiting by this, and observing a motion 
in her lips, put his ear close to her mouth. Ide 
thought he could hear her sing, and question¬ 
ing her, she said there was always a tune 
dwelling upon her mind, which at times 
had an irresistible influence upon her, and 
impelled her to begin her involuntary mo¬ 
tions. In the end, she was cured by altering 










19G POWER OF MUSIC. 


the time in the beating of the drum; for 
whenever she missed the time, the motions 
stopped.” 

The nicety of perception for fine sounds in 
some minds is as remarkable as the extreme 
enjoyment they derive from them. A musi¬ 
cal gentleman mentioned in company, that 
amidst all the noise of a large party, he could 
distinguish the faintest tinkle on a wine-glass, 
because it was a musical sound. Some years 
ago, an eminent violinist arrived in Edinburgh, 
and took up his lodgings in a street where all 
the houses were externally alike. Returning 
home late one evening, and having forgot the 
number of the house, he was at a loss to find 
his home, till a musical expedient occurred to 
him. Conceiving that he should be able to 
distinguish the street-door bell of his landlady’s 
house, he deliberately went along a small por¬ 
tion of the street, ringing each bell, till he ar¬ 
rived at one of a peculiar tone, which he at 
once recognised as the right one, and on hear- 
ing which, he waited till he was admitted. 
We do not know if the hero of the subsequent 
anecdote was in any degree gifted as a musi¬ 
cian ; but his perception of nicety in tone seems 

to have been as great as that of Signor E-. 

It was in April, 1836, that Lieutenant Laver, 
on leave of absence from his regiment, spent 
a night in the Bush-Inn in Manchester. In 
the morning, as he was sitting at breakfast, a 
band of street musicians came past, and in one 
of the instruments (the serpent) he thought 
he recognised the peculiar style of playing of 
a man who had once performed on that instru¬ 
ment in the band of his regiment, but who had 
deserted. The lieutenant immediately ran 
down stairs, found his surmise correct, and 
had the man apprehended. To those entirely 
ungifted with music, such delicacies in this 
particular intellectual sense seem miraculous. 

Mr. Burette, and other physicians, have 
believed that music affected the whole nervous 
system, so as not only to give temporary re¬ 
lief in some diseases, but to achieve radical 
cures in many cases. He thought that music 
could palliate the pains of the sciatica. He 
conceived that certain vibrations of the nerves, 
along with other effects produced, to be the 
cause of this; and that its power of fixing 
attention, and withdrawing the mind from the 
feelings which occupied it to different chan¬ 
nels of thought and sensibility, awakening 
dormant sensations, might produce a power¬ 
ful effect, that might operate on the entire 
frame, causing changes almost miraculous. 
Theophrastus asserted that diseases have either 
been cured by music or mitigated. We find 
this illustrated in Mrs. Grant’s “ Letters from 
the Mountains,” when she mentions the effect 
which the singing of his attendants had on her 
little boy, in soothing his last sufferings; but, 


like everything she wrote, it is so interesting¬ 
ly given in her own words, that it is best to 
transcribe the passage. “1, for my part, 
though a stranger to the art of music, am well 
acquainted with its power, and subject to its 
influence in its rudest forms, particularly when 
it breathes the spirit of that sentiment which 
for the time predominates in my mind, or 
wakes some tender remembrance with which 
accident has connected it. When my dearest 
little boy was in the last stage of that illness 
which proved fatal to him, we had three 
maids who had all good voices. One was 
afraid to sit up alone to attend my calls, on 
which the nursemaid agreed to sit with her, 
and lull the infant beside her. The solitary 
maid was then afraid to stay alone in her attic 
abode. The result was, that the three syrens 
sung in concert a great part of the night, which 
seemed to sooth the dear sufferer so much, 
that when they ceased, he often desired that 
they would begin again. He listened to it 
three hours before he expired. I never hear 
the most imperfect note of Cro Challin since 
without feeling my heart-strings accord with 
it.” 

Sir Henry Halford, in his essays and ora¬ 
tions, mentions the case of a gentleman who 
became insane on the loss of his property, and 
for months was in such a state of stupefaction, 
that he remained perfectly motionless, not 
moving unless when pushed ; nor would he 
speak to or notice any person. Music in the 
street at length produced its effect. He was 
observed to listen, and to be still more awaken¬ 
ed to its power the second time he heard it. 
The person under whose care he was, avail¬ 
ed himself of this happy omen, and offered him 
a violin. He seized it eagerly, and constant¬ 
ly amused himself with it. The result was 
most fortunate : in two months he was dis¬ 
missed cured. Sir Henry alludes distantly, 
but affectingly, to the case of George III., who 
had been his patient, and bears testimony to 
the power which music had over his mind, 
mitigating the sadness of seclusion. And we 
have heard a most touching account of the 
venerable king : sightless and secluded, a prey 
to visionary delusions, yet finding a sweet 
solace for his troubled mind in “ the touches 
of sweet harmony.” There, at his instru¬ 
ment, he might often be seen, wrapt in thought, 
as the strings responded to his touch in the 
sacred strains of Handel. 

One of the most remarkable instances of the 
efficacy of music occurred during the celebra¬ 
ted Farinelli’s visit to Spain. The queen 
determined to try the effect of his astonishing 
powers on the king, who had had a passion 
lor music. He was then laboring under such 
a dejection of spirits, as baffled all medical 
treatment, and disappointed every effort made 











POWER OP MUSIC. 197 


to divert liis thoughts. Neither pleasure nor 
business could rouse him from the hopeless 
melancholy under which he labored. Utter¬ 
ly incapable of managing public affairs, or of 
enjoying domestic intercourse, he remained in 
a state of the most deplorable sadness and 
apathy. Farinelli was placed in a room ad¬ 
joining that where the king sat; he sang some 
of his pathetic songs with all the captivating 
expression for which he was so remarkable. 
The queen anxiously watched the effect; nor 
was she disappointed. The king seemed sur¬ 
prised ; and as he listened, he became affect¬ 
ed, and tears forced their way, and the pent- 
up feelings gushed forth once more. Another 
song, and he ordered the attendance of the 
singer. Farinelli appeared ; the king gave 
utterance to his delight and admiration, and 
desired him to say how he should reward him 
for the gratification which his wonderful talents 
had given. Farinelli, who had been directed 
how to act, only entreated that his majesty 
would permit his attendants to dress him, and 
that he would appear in council as usual. The 
king complied; his spirits returned; and thus 
Farinelli effected a cure in some moments 
which the ablest medical men in Spain, all 
the devoted courtiers, and the anxious family, 
had in vain endeavored to bring about. This 
affecting anecdote naturally reminds us of the 
playing of David before Saul, when the evil 
spirit departed from the king, and he was well. 
To this very remarkable rcase the beautiful 
lines of Cumberland, now almost forgotten, 
but worthy of being remembered, are appro¬ 
priate. The last stanza runs thus :— 

“ The turbid passions shall retire 
Before the minstrel’s art, 

And the same hand that sweeps the lyre 
Shall heal the stricken heart.” 

As to Farinelli, he rose to the highest favor 
at court; and, to his great credit, instead of 
being elated by an elevation so exciting to one 
of humble birth, he preserved a humility and 
simplicity which endeared him to the Spanish 
nobility, and won from them their esteem and 
confidence. The various anecdotes recounted 
of this gifted man, reflect as much honor on 
his disposition and character as they do on the 
genius that so eminently distinguished him. 
There was such enchantment in his singing, 
that it completely overcame Senesino, who 
was himself one of the finest singers. Fie and 
Farinelli had long wished to hear each other 
sing; the opportunity was at length afforded, 
and they were engaged to perform at the same 
theatre. Senesino played the part of an in¬ 
exorable tyrant, and Farinelli of his unhappy 
captive. When he appeared in chains, he 
sang with such exquisite pathos, that Senesino 
forgot the cruel part he had to sustain; he 
forgot everything; and, throwing himself into 


Farinelli’s arms, he burst into tears. But this 
need not surprise us, when we recollect that 
two hired assassins, who, it may be presumed, 
were not possessed of very tender feelings, 
when they waited to fulfil their engagement 
to murder Stradella, near the door of a church 
in Rome, where he was taking part in an ora¬ 
torio, were so completely overcome by his 
pathetic music, that they not only abandoned 
their purpose, but confessed it to him, and 
warned him of his danger. The complete 
mastery which music often exerts over the 
mind may be considered its greatest triumph. 
I need only allude to the Ranz des Vaches of 
the Swiss, the Marsellaise of the French, the 
Lochabcr no more of the Scotch regiments, and 
Hail Columbia of the Americans. Its influ¬ 
ence over the affections may be illustrated by 
an anecdote connected with a custom which 
is observed among the Greeks. The young 
Greek often leaves his home for a foreign land, 
but never without grief. Fondly attached to 
the place of his birth, and to his domestic ties, 
he feels himself an exile wherever he goes, and 
endures the greatest anxiety on account of 
those near and dear to him that he has left, 
and is often haunted with a sad foreboding 
that he is to meet them no more. When he 
is about to take his leave, there is a farewell 
repast, to which the relations and the friends 
are invited ; when it is over, all the guests 
accompany the traveller some miles on his 
journey. During this, and at the repast, it 
is the custom to sing farewell songs; many of 
these have been long in use, but some are 
composed specially for the occasion; and it 
not unfrequently happens that they are com¬ 
posed extempore by some one dearest to him, 
or by himself. There was such a meeting 
held one day near Pindus, on the occasion of 
the youngest of three sons of respectable 
parents devoting himself to voluntary exile. 
The deepest regret which he felt in leaving 
the home of his childhood, was the conscious¬ 
ness that he carried with him no share of the 
affections of a mother on whom he doted. 
She, unlike the generality of Greek mothers, 
had never marked him as an object of her love, 
but had treated him with a coldness painfully 
contrasted with her conduct toward her other 
children; this he had borne without a mur¬ 
mur, but now that he was about to leave her, 
perhaps for ever, his heart was breaking. The 
spot chosen for the parting was a wild and 
desolate scene, among high and rugged rocks. 
Several of the mournful songs had already 
been sung, when the young traveller, separa¬ 
ting from his company, ascended a rock which 
overhung the path ; here he sang his last sad 
farewell in tones that sank into every heart, 
and drew tears from every eye. He express¬ 
ed, with the deepest pathos, the passionate 









193 SLAVERY IN RUSSIA. 


grief which he felt in quitting his home and 
those he loved ; but his greatest anguish was 
in thinking he was going without his mother’s 
affection. The heart of the mother was touch¬ 
ed; her emotion increased with every word 
and every note of the pathetic air to which he 
sang ; the warm current of affection gushed 
from its hidden springs ; she clasped him in 
her arms, and weeping and kissing him over 
I and over again, she entreated forgiveness, and 
promised to love and cherish him as long as 
she lived. The promise was inviolably and 
tenderly kept. 

The most simple music, or that which is 
hardly music at all, often finds its way to the 
very heart. It is said that Curran attributed 
his first impressions of eloquence and poetry 
to the wild chant of the Irish cry, or funeral 
dirge. The memory of some of those strains, 
which have been often described as somethino- 

O 

unearthly, and resembling the melody of an 
' JE olian harp, no doubt flitted across his mind, 
as he has sat preparing himself for the defence 
of some client’s life, as was his wont, with his 
violin in his hand, from which ever and anon 
he drew forth wild and plaintive sounds. It 
is customary with the improvisatori to sweep 
the chords of an instrument as they compose 
their verses, to aid their conceptions. Even 
the music of bells produces a powerful effect. 
Who does not feel his spirit lighten as he 
hears the merry chime of festive bells ? Who 
does not feel a touch of awe as the death-bell 
tolls ? The inhabitants of Limerick are proud 
of their cathedral bells ; and well they may, 
for they are passing sweet. They boast that 
they were brought from Italy, and tell of their 
having occupied the skill of a clever young 
artist for some years. By the time he had 
manufactured them, their chime had taken 
such possession of his heart, that he resolved 
never to leave them ; so that when he sold 
them to the prior of a convent, he removed to 
their neighborhood, that he might still hear 
their music: he hoped that they would toll 
his requiem. Troubles came — he lost his 
property — the convent was laid waste — the 
bells were taken away — and this grieved the 
artist more than any of his losses; he wan¬ 
dered over many of the countries of Europe, 
hoping to reach the spot where his bells might 
be. Years after they had been manufactured, 
it happened that, toward the close of spring, 
on a lovely evening, a vessel had anchored at 
some distance from Limerick, and a boat was 
seen to glide from its side along the Shannon. 
It had been hired by one of the passengers — 
the Italian artist — now grown old and gray. 
He was impatient to reach the city, to which 
he had traced his much-loved bells. As they 
rowed along the smooth waters, the steeple 
of the cathedral appeared in the distance above 


the surroundingbuildings; the boatmen point¬ 
ed it out to the stranger, as he sat in the stern ; 
he fixed his eyes earnestly and fondly upon it. 
The boat glided on; but all at once, through 
the stillness of the hour, the peal from the 
sweet cathedral bells burst upon the air; the 
stranger crossed his arms upon his breast and 
leant back. The shore was reached ; the face 
of the Italian was still turned toward the ca¬ 
thedral, but the spirit had fled, and the bells 
had tolled his requiem! 


SLAVERY IN RUSSIA. 

There are forty millions of serfs in Great 
Russia, the largest slave population in the 
world. Forty millions of men—glebse ad¬ 
script—attached to the soil, bought and sold 
with the soil, on which they are born, and on 
which they die. Upward of twenty millions 
of these serfs belong to the crown, the remain¬ 
der to the nobles. Previous to the sixteenth 
century, the peasantry of Great Russia, re¬ 
tained the privilege of moving from place to 
place, held the free disposal of their persons, 
and sold their services for a term of years. 
In 1598, when Boris Gedenof ascended the 
throne, and sought the support of the nobles, 
he made a law by which the peasant was 
bound to the soil, and became the property of 
the noble. 

The value of an estate in Weliki Russia, 
depends more upon the number of its peasants 
than its acres. Some occupy a vast extent of 
country, and contain as many as one hundred 
thousand souls. The proprietor pays an an¬ 
nual tax of about one dollar and sixty cents 
upon every serf. The condition of the latter, 
varies according to the circumstances and dis¬ 
position of the master. As a general rule, he 
has a house and a piece of ground, and the 
privilege of feeding a cow upon the common 
near the village. For these he pays with his 
labor. The steward of the lord assigns him 
a daily task, which is easily accomplished be¬ 
fore noon. The remaining hours are at his 
own disposal, except in harvest, and certain 
other times, when he and his wife must turn 
out into the field. He can not leave the 
estate, or learn a trade without permission, 
The master must maintain him, furnish him 
with food and medicine when it is necessary, 
and is liable to a fine, if he is found destitute 
or begging upon the highway. Stray serfs, 
runaways, or peasants, whether free or bound, 
roaming without a passport, are detained and 
advertised ; and, if not reclaimed, or relieved 
by the owner or some responsible person, are 
sold at public sale. The proprietor can not 












SWITZERLAND. 109 


oblige tlie serf to marry contrary to bis incli¬ 
nation ; and, on the other hand, the clegry 
can not marry him without the permission of 
the master. The serf can not be sold oil' the 
estate, or separated from his family, and many 
other humane provisions have been made for 
his happiness and safety. 

But it is futile to speak of rules and regula¬ 
tions in a country where wealth and birth, 
give despotic power. The proprietor is gov¬ 
erned in his action entirely by his interest, and 
he treats his peasants precisely as he pleases. 
He sells them whenever a good price is of¬ 
fered, and he sends them wherever it suits his 
convenience. He makes them weave or 
plough; he hires them out by the month or 
year, just as it pleases him to do. In the 
same way, he may treat them with kindness 
or with blows ; but as they are generally re¬ 
garded as insensible and ungrateful, they get 
more kicks than favors. The serf can not 
accuse the master. If the blows of the lat¬ 
ter cause death within three days he is fined ; 
but if the serf lives more than three days 
after severe punishment, the master is not lia¬ 
ble. If the serf is killed without premedita¬ 
tion, by any other than the master, the killer 
pays the master three hundred and eight dol¬ 
lars. If he is killed with premeditation, there 
is no indemnification for the master, and the 
murderer is responsible to the police. 

That the Russian serfs are often sold with¬ 
out the lands on which they dwell, is truly 
stated by Mr. Maxwell, but we believe he is 
mistaken in saying that they can not be sold 
by law. The imperial council has once for¬ 
mally determined that such sales are legal. 

In the subjoined passage, the reader will 
notice several remarkable resemblances be¬ 
tween the Russian serf, and the negro slave :— 

“ The posadki, or freedman, can not hold 
lands or serfs ; but they have other privileges, 
and in the distant provinces display, as we 
have mentioned, all the natural vigor of the 
race, and are distinguished for industry, and 
the most indefatigable perseverance in the 
pursuit of gain. But the serf has not the 
same inducements, and exhibits none of the 
activity and industry so remarkable in the 
posadki. He is the creature of apathy, and 
all the stirring qualities of his nature are latent 
and undeveloped. He works as he is directed, 
and manifests the same rude ability in any 
employment he may follow. 

“He is ordered to be a musician, mechanic, 
or a manufacturer, and becomes either of these 
with astonishing facility, though he excels in 
none. Neither the fear of the lash, nor the 
promise of reward, can force him to work with 
the plane or saw ; but with the hatchet, which 
he always carries at his girdle, he will hew 
the forest trees, prepare his logs and plank, 


build a house, and make his furniture. He 
never exerts his full strength. If the burden 
is a heavy one, he calls for assistance. It is 
a common thing to see a hundred men holding 
to a rope, and hauling a stone or a piece of 
timber, that would have been handled with 
ease, by twelve or twenty Englishmen. On 
such occasions, before the united effort is 
made, the Russian workmen sing for some 
minutes in chorus, and the end of the song is 
the signal for the pull altogether. After two 
or three pulls they stop, and the singing begins 
again, and so on to the completion of the 
work—more than half the time at least being 
passed in these musical interludes. The task 
is therefore often a light one, and easilv per¬ 
formed. When it is finished, the laborer is 
at liberty to employ himself as he pleases. 
Should he do double duty, however, he Would 
not be rewarded, and instances are known, 
within the observation of the writer, where 
the offer of the peasant to perform an extra 
task had been rejected, and for the reason, that 
any such proceeding was unusual, and calcu¬ 
lated to produce confusion. So the serf, leav¬ 
ing his wife to cultivate his garden and tend 
the loom, loiters away the balance of the day 
in indolence.” 

The disinclination of the serf to hard work, 
his apathy under chastisement, the necessity • 
of employing half a dozen to do the work of 
one, the lightness of his tasks, and his prac¬ 
tice of singing when several work in company, 
are circumstances in which he resembles the 
African slave, as seen in the southern states, 
and in the West Indies. Mr. Maxwell points 
out some other resemblances—such as the fre¬ 
quency of great longevity among the serfs, 
and the extraordinary multiplication of the 
race. Every year another million is added to 
the population of the Russian empire. 


SWITZERLAND. 

Switzerland is reputed to be the freest 
country in Europe. This is an error, arising 
most likely from the common notion that the 
country is a confederacy of republics, which 
wrested its freedom from surrounding despo¬ 
tisms. It is one thing to throw off a foreign 
yoke, and another to establish internal free¬ 
dom. Switzerland at the present day, with 
all its wonderful industry and spirit of liberal¬ 
ity in matters of international trade, is, in 
point of fact, a cluster of little despotisms, the 
despots in each case being a majority of the 
population which oppresses the minority—op¬ 
pression on the score of religion and of birth. 
Ignorance, and selfishness — which is only a 
















SWITZERLAND. 


200 


manifestation of ignorance—are conjointly the 
cause of this discreditable state of affairs. 
Under the common name of Swiss, three great 
European races meet and nestle about the heart 
of the Alps — the French from the west, the 
German from the north and east, and the Ital¬ 
ian from the south; and the want of commu¬ 
nication, till of late years, has kept these races 
apart and ignorant of each other. Nowhere, 
also, is the distinction of religion more marked. 
Two thirds of the Swiss are protestants, and 
the remaining one third catholics; and the 
protestants and catholic cantons, as the recent 
civil war has shown, hate each other as the 
hostile clans in the highlands hated each other 
two hundred years ago. Besides, though 
Switzerland, compared with most countries, 
is a land of mountains, the great part of it is 
composed of plains amidst the stupendous Alps. 
Two hours’ stiff climbing suffices to change 
from the neat-trimmed flower-garden and stuc¬ 
coed cottage of the industrious artisan of Zu¬ 
rich, into the lofty hill-country of Schweitz, 
where the mountaineer leads a half-vagabond 
existence, tending his numerous goats among 
storms and mist, while his children run ragged 
and barefooted along the road, begging from 
travellers. Between people so variously sit¬ 
uated there can be little sympathy. 

A consequence of this national disintegration 
has been, that the rights of citizenship posses¬ 
sed in one canton have always been good for 
nothing in another. The citizen of Geneva, 
who was driven to settle in the Valais, was 
allowed toleration; but neither he nor his 
posterity could, by any length of residence, 
become denizens of their adopted country. A 
Roman catholic at Lucerne who turned prot- 
estant, lost all his property, and was liable to 
banishment; a protestant at Berne turning 
Roman catholic, was punished in like man¬ 
ner. Several of the present cantons continued, 
up to the time of the French revolution, to be 
vassals to the larger one3. Thus the canton 
of Berne was sovereign lord of the present 
cantons of Vaud, Uri, and Tessin, which it 
crushed with taxation, without admitting its 
subjects to any political rights whatever. 
Thus, in process of time, it came to pass that 
all over Switzerland there grew up a distinct 
body of men, the descendants of individuals 
who had lost their civil rights in their respec¬ 
tive cantons, either in consequence of change 
of religion, or of misdemeanors for which they 
were sentenced to banishment, or of illegal 
marriages, or lastly, as foreigners settled in 
Switzerland. The stigma thus cast upon the 
fathers descended upon the children to the 
last generation. They formed a separate class 
called Heimathlosen—literally, the homeless 
—people to whom the law allowed nothing— 
involuntary outlaws. They exist at the pres¬ 


ent moment in steadily-increasing numbers; 
and as injustice always reacts on itself, the 
parties so degraded form an organized body 
of mendicants, hucksters, pilferers, and often 
robbers, like the gipsies of other countries, but 
much more numerous, compact, and formida¬ 
ble to the society, which has cast them out. 

Some years ago, these Heimathlosen were 
become so troublesome, that their state was 
forced upon the attention of the Swiss diet, 
which instituted inquiries accordingly, the re¬ 
sult of which is now before us. The report 
stated the Heimathlosen to amount to many 
thousands in number in all the central cantons, 
from the lake of Geneva to the Grisons, be¬ 
ginning at the Hanenstein in canton Soleure 
on the west, and extending on the east beyond 
the Rhine into the Austrian principality of 
Lichtenstein. None of these tliousandshad any 
fixed trade, or were allowed by the law to pos¬ 
sess a permanent house or lodging. When they 
A^entured into the towns, they assumed, for the 
time, the characters of thread-tAvisters, match- 
sellers, bird-catchers, and menders of pots and 
kettles. Whenever they might they lived 
by choice in the Avoods and mountains, sup¬ 
porting themselves by all kinds of thievery. 
At night, they creep into caves, or sleep round 
a fire in the open air; and this through the 
depths of Avinter. Marriage is unknoAvn among 
them; none of those examined could tell their 
own age, and very feAV kneAv who Avere their 
fathers and mothers. As soon as the children 
can walk, they are sent into the towns to beg 
and steal, and bring their plunder at night to 
the elder vagrants, xvho remain meantime en¬ 
camped in the forests. They have still a 
voluntary government, and their leader at 
this time Avas a noted housebreaker named 
Krusikans, subsequently executed. Wherev¬ 
er and Avhenever discovered, they are liable 
to be imprisoned without cause assigned ; and 
formerly, Avhen the prisons were overcrowded, 
many Avere executed without even the formal¬ 
ity of a trial. They are noAV, as soon as seized, 
escorted by troops to the boundaries of the 
canton, and thrust into the next, bAf which they 
are expelled in like manner, unless they can 
meantime escape. The report recommended 
various plans for absorbing this unwholesome 
population, which have been frequently since 
discussed ; but nothing has been done, and 
the troubled state of the country renders any 
improvement hoav less likely than e\ r er. 

Vaud Avas a feAV years ago the scene of 
some enoimities on the score of religion, and 
while Ave now Avrite, intelligence has been re¬ 
ceived that the council of state of that can¬ 
ton, which is presbyterian, has enacted that 
all religious meetings of parties, not in con¬ 
nexion with the authorized church, are illegal; 
public Avorship of all such bodies is according- 








View of Zurich, Switzerland. 































































































































































































































































































































COURTSHIP. 


202 


ly put down by military force, and ministers 
are in danger of their lives. A more startling 
instance of the tyranny of a majority over a 
minority could scarcely be found in modern 
times. 

Onr illustration presents a panoramic view 
of Zurich, the most important manufacturing 
town of Switzerland, the capital of the Canton 
of that name, which has taken the federal or 
protestant side in the recent struggle. 

The town lies at the north end of the lake 
of Zurich, and on the banks of the Limmat. 
It is the seat of the Swiss diet, alternately 
with Berne and Lucerne, for a period of two 
years together. 

The banks of the lake and river, and all 
the neighboring hills, are thickly dotted with 
houses, now united with the town itself by the 
removal of the useless and inconvenient ram¬ 
parts, and forming a wide circle of suburbs. 

There is little worthy of note in the public 
buildings of Zurich. Its most pleasing fea¬ 
tures are its promenades; the best of which 
commands a delightful view of the town, lake, 
and distant Alps. 

Zurich is historically remarkable as the 
place where the reformation first commenced 
in Switzerland, in 1519. It has also been the 
asylum of many eminent English protestants; 
and here was printed, in 1535, the first entire 
English version of the Bible, by Miles Cover- 
dale. 


COURTSHIP. 

We have seen how little there is deserving 
the name of courtship in savage life, of either 
the present or the past. It is only amid the 
refinements of enlightened nations, that the 
delights of making love are of common enjoy¬ 
ment. In Asia, in Africa, and in much of 
Europe, marriage is preceded by none of those 
delicate attentions, and affectionate inter¬ 
change of sentiments, which form the proper 
prelude to the matrimonial engagement. Even 
in the politest nations, as among the most bar¬ 
barous, the marriages are affairs of conveni¬ 
ence, in which fortune, position, everything 
is consulted, but the sentiments of those who 
are taught to submit in a matter of such vital 
moment, to parental dictation. Thus in Franee, 
as in Java, young persons meet for the first 
time in their lives, to be indissolubly united 
by the marriage tie. 

Spain was long the land of gallantry and 
chivalry. After the ancient customs of con¬ 
fining women with bolts, bars, and duennas, 
had giving wav, a romantic gallantry was car¬ 
ried to the highest pitch, and love became the 
brightest picture of Spanish life. 


Though women have long since been per¬ 
mitted to have a choice in affairs of the heart, 
there was still preserved a decorum of man¬ 
ners, which prevented a Spanish lady from 
being alone with her lover. The consetjuence 
is a resort to every ingenious device, by which 
a glowing passion may find expression. 

The Spanish lover writes out his adoration 
in sonnets, and sets his affection to music. At 
night he sings his love-lays under the lattice 
of his lady. Or if not himself gifted with 
musical abilities, he hires artists who are able 
to do justice to the ardor of his passion. The 
colder the air without, the more is the seren¬ 
ade supposed to warm the heart of the lady 
within, and as pity is supposed to lead direct¬ 
ly to love, the Spanish suitor stays night af¬ 
ter night, heaving deep sighs, and casting 
piteous looks toward the window, satisfied, 
yes, supremely blessed, if he receives the 
slightest signal of acknowledgment in return. 

In Spain love is full of sentiment—a deli¬ 
cious madness, which, for the time absorbs all 
other feelings. A Spanish lover scarcely 
thinks, speaks, or dreams of any but his mis¬ 
tress. Not only does his devotion to her ap¬ 
pear like idolatry, but he is ready to en¬ 
counter any peril, or to engage in any combat, 
to manifest the strength of his attachment. 
He is ready to punish her enemies, fight his 
rivals, or do battle with the world at large, in 
his sweet mistress’s cause ; but his choicest 
opportunity for signalizing his courage and 
conduct, under the very eyes of his mistress 
is in the bull-fight, the national festival of 
Spain, and all Spanish countries. There, sur¬ 
rounded by the whole public, and sure that 
his mistress is watching him, as Hudibras 
has it:— 

-“ He obtains the noblest spouse, 

Who widows greatest herds of cows.” 

This notion of exciting love by bringing 
into play the emotion of pity, or sympathy, 
has been made use of in Spain, in a still more 
remarkable manner. 

It was once the custom in Madrid, and 
other chief cities of Spain, for large companies 
of people, who called themselves disci plants 
or whippers, to form a procession through the 
public streets, every good Friday, attended by 
the religious orders, courts of law, and some¬ 
times by the royal court. The whippers were 
arrayed in high sugar-loaf hats, white gloves 
ami shoes, and waistcoats with ribands of the 
colors preferred by the mistresses of their af¬ 
fections, and were armed with whips of small 
cords to the ends of which were fastened bits 
of wax, in which were inserted pieces of 
glass. The whole city, and especially the 
ladies, were spectators of this procession, and 
as it passed along, he who whipped himself 
hardest felt sure of winning the favor of his 


















TYRE. 203 


dulcinea, When they passed a beautiful 
woman, some one was sure to whip himself in 
such a manner as to sprinkle her with his 
blood, an honor for which she returned suita¬ 
ble acknowledgments; and when any lover 
of this train passed the window where his 
mistress was sitting, he began to lay on the 
whip with redoubled fury; while the lady felt 
complimented by such proofs of devotion. 

The lively Lady Montague gives an ac¬ 
count of a somewhat similar scene, she wit¬ 
nessed in Constantinople—a procession, when 
the sultan was going out to take command of 
the army. 

“ The rear of the procession,” says Lady 
Mary, “ was composed of volunteers, who 
came to beg of the sultan the honor of dying 
in his service; they were all naked to the 
middle, some had their arms pierced through 
with arrows left sticking in them, others had 
them sticking in their heads, with the blood 
trickling down their faces ; some slashed their 
arms with sharp knives, making the blood 
spring out upon the bystanders, and this is 
looked on as an expression of their zeal for 
glory. And I am told that some make use of 
it to advance their love ; and when they come 
near the window where their mistress stands, 
all the women being veiled to see this specta¬ 
cle, they stick another arrow for her sake, 
who gives some sign of approbation and en¬ 
couragement to this kind of gallantry.” 

In England and Scotland there were former¬ 
ly customs less barbarous perhaps, but scarce¬ 
ly less objectionable — that for example of 
drinking toasts to all the beauties admired by 
the members of a convivial party, when she, 
whose lover drank the most, was the reigning 
toast. These, however, are the eccentricities 
of the tender passion. 

Courtship in Italy, as in Spain, has much 
of the romance of a deep passion, and it is 
often protracted to a great length, that its 
pleasures may be enjoyed the longer. 


TYRE. 

But we linger too long on the cast of the 
Jordan. Now we cross that celebrated stream. 
Our course lies due west, having on our right 
the cedar forests and the snowy peaks of Leb¬ 
anon, and on our left the green swellings of 
the Upper Galilee. Now we have gained the 
brow of an eminence which overlooks the 
Mediterranean ; we have been too late by sev¬ 
eral centuries in arriving here ; otherwise we 
should have seen a sight, as the saying is, 
worth seeing. From this height we should 
have looked down upon the walls, the palace 


roofs, the warehouses, the workshops, and the 
spacious harbors of Tyre. Here we should 
have been greeted by the city’s hum, the rat¬ 
tle of the chariot wheel, and the anvil of the 
artisan; and here we should have seen the 
seas, to their utmost verge, whitened by the 
sails of her ships—some voyaging westward, 
others returning with the merchandise of 
distant lands. But no one who looks hence 
at this day, and surveys the silent shore and 
the solitary seas beneath him, could imagine 
that such a sight as we have now described 
could ever have been here beheld. 

With Ezekiel’s magnificent prediction of 
the ruin of Tyre we are all acquainted — we 
shall give Volney’s version of the passage : 
not because he has succeeded in transfusing 
more of the spirit and sublimity of the prophet 
into his translation than our translators have 
done in theirs — he falls, we apprehend, far 
beneath them ; but because he has substituted 
the modern names of places for the old He¬ 
brew ones, and has thus thrown great light on 
the commerce of Tyre — a commerce which 
more nearly resembles that which Britain is 
carrying on at this day, than anything else of 
the kind which the world has ever seen :— 

“ Proud city, that art situate at the entry 
of the sea ! Tyre, who hast said, my borders 
are in the midst of the seas; attend to the 
judgments pronounced against thee ! Thou 
hast extended thy commerce to [distant] 
islands, among the inhabitants of [unknown] 
coasts. Thou makest ships of fir-trees of 
Sanir [the highest summit of Lebanon]; the 
cedars of Lebanon are masts to thee ; the pop¬ 
lars of Bisan, oars. Thy sailors are seated 
upon the box-wood of Cyprus, inlaid with 
ivory. Thy sails and streamers are woven 
with fine flax from Egypt; thy garments are 
dyed with blue and purple of Hellas [the 
Archipelago]. Sidon and Arvad send their 
rowers to thee ; Pjabel [Djebila] her skilful 
shipbuilders; thy mathematicians and thy 
sages guide thy barks; all the ships of the 
sea are employed in thy commerce. The 
Persian, the Lydian, and Egyptian, receive 
thy wages: thy walls are hung round with 
their bucklers and their cuirases. The sons 
of Arvad line thy parapets ; and thy towers, 
guarded by the Djimedeans [a Phoenician 
people], glitter with their brilliant quivers. 
Every country desires to trade with thee. 
Tarsus sends to thy markets iron, tin, and 
lead. Yonia, the country of the Mosques and 
Teblis, supply thee with slaves and brazen 
vessels. Armenia sends thee mules, horses, 
and horsemen. The Arab of Dedan [between 
Aleppo and Damascus] conveys thy merchan¬ 
dise. Many isles exchange with thee ivory 
and ebony. The Armenian [the Syrian] 
brings thee rubies, purple, embroidered work, 








TYRE. 


204 


fine linen, coral, and agate. The children of 
Israel and Judah sell thee cheese, balm, myrrh, 
raisins, and oil; and Damascus furnishes thee 
wine of Halboun [perhaps Halab, where there 
are still vines], and fine wool. The Arabs of 
Oman offer to thy merchants polished iron, 
cinnamon, and the aromatic reed ; and the 
Arabians of Dedan bring thee rich carpets. 
The inhabitants of the Desert, and the sheiks 
of Kedar, exchange their lambs and their goats 
for thy valuable merchandise. The Arabs of 
Saba and Rama [in the Yemen] enrich thee 
with aromatics, precious stones, and gold. 
The inhabitants of Haram, of Kalana [in 
Mesopotamia], and of Adana [near to Tarsus], 
the factors of the Arabs of Sheba [near the 
Dedan], the Assyrians, and the Chaldeans, 
trade also with thee, and sell thee shawls, 
garments artfully embroidered, silver, masts, 
cordage, and cedars; yea, the boasted vessels 
of Tarsus are in thy pay. O Tyre! elated 
with the greatness of thy glory, and the im¬ 
mensity of thy riches, the waves of the sea 
shall rise up against thee, and the tempest 
plunge thee to the bottom of the waters. 
Then shall thy wealth be swallowed up with 
thee ; and with thee in one day shall perish 
thy commerce, thy merchants and correspond¬ 
ents, thy sailors, pilots, artists, and soldiers, 
and the numberless people who dwell within 
thy walls. Thy rowers shall desert thy ves¬ 
sels. Thy pilots shall sit upon the shore, 
looking mournfully toward the land. The 
nations whom thou enrichest, the kings whom 
thou didst gratify with the abundance of thy 
merchandise, trembling at thy ruin, shall cry 
bitterly in despair; they shall cut off their 
hair; they shall cast ashes on their heads; 
they shall roll in the dust, and lament over 
thee, saying, what city shall equal Tyre, that 
queen of the sea !” 

Now we are in circumstances to feel how 
completely the prediction has been verified. 
Look down, then. You see this little clump 
of miserable houses immediately beneath, all 
huddled together on this low island, which 
scarcely rises above the surface of the water. 
This is all that remains of the crowning city. 
You see that basin for ships on the north, 
well-nigh choked up with sand. There the 
fleets of the world were wont to cast anchor. 
A stranger from a far-distant land passed this 
way not many year3 ago. He tells, that when 
he passed by, there was only a single fishing- 
boat in the harbor of Tyre. On the sandy 
plain which you perceive running up on the 
north of the town stood old Tyre. The army 
of Nebuchadnezzar lay thirteen years on that 
plain. Every head was made bald—every 
shoulder was peeled in the siege; but at last 
the city was taken. 

Before the banners of the Chaldean army 


were seen on the plain before Tyre, and even 
before Nebuchadnezzar had projected the ex¬ 
pedition, with what beauty had the prophet 
described the result of the siege 1 “ Thus 

saith the Lord; behold I will bring upon 
Tyrus Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon, a 
king of kings, from the north, with horses, 
and with chariots, and with horsemen, and 
companies, and much people. He shall make 
a fort against thee, and cast a mount against 
thee, and lift up a buckler against thee, and 
he shall set engines of war against thy walls, 
and with his axes he shall break down thy 
towers. By reason of the abundance of his 
horses their dust shall cover thee; thy walls 
shall shake at the noise of the horsemen, and 
of the wheels, and of the chariots, when he 
shall enter into thy gates, as men enter into a 
city wherein is made a breach. And I will 
cause the noise of thy songs to cease; and the 
sound of thy harps shall be no more heard.” 

Old Tyre was now in ruin. The inhabit¬ 
ants had fled to a little island a very short 
distance from the shore. There they pro¬ 
ceeded to erect a new city which became the 
heir of the fame and the vast commerce of 
that which Nebuchadnezzar had destroyed. 
New Tyre continued to flourish till the times 
of Alexander ; but, as she stood in the way 
of the scheme of universal conquest which 
that monarch had formed, her reduction was 
necessary. In order to bring his engines of 
war close up to her walls, he found it neces¬ 
sary to construct a mound between the shore 
and the island on which the city stood. For 
this purpose he chose the materials which the 
place most readily offered. These were the 
dust, the timber, and the stones of Old Tyre, 
which had lain here since the period of her 
destruction by Nebuchadnezzar: “ They shall 
lay thy stones and thy timber and thy dust in 
the midst of the water." “ I will also sen-ape 
her dust from her." The arms of the con¬ 
queror prevailed, and the queen of the seas 
sank. She was soon rebuilt; but to suffer 
new calamities, and to come, in the course of 
ages, into the miserable state in which we 
now find her. “ When you come to it,” says 
Maundrell. “ you find no similitude of that 
glory for which it was so renowned in ancient 
times, and which the prophet Ezekiel de¬ 
scribes. On the north side of it, it has an old 
Turkish ungarrisoned castle; besides which 
you see nothing here but a mere Babel of 
broken walls, pillars, vaults, &c., there being 
not so much as one entire house left. Its 
present inhabitants are only a few poor wretch¬ 
es, harboring themselves in the vaults, and 
subsisting chiefly upon fishing.” 

Before we quit the eminence where we now 
stand, and from which we look down on the 
shadow of Tyre, let us observe how God has 














MEXICO. 


here inflicted his threatening to the very let¬ 
ter. Here is the site of Old Tyre, a sandy 
plain with the waves tumbling over it: “ When 
I shall bring up the deep upon thee, and great 
waters shall cover thee ; I will make thee a 
terror, and thou sh alt be no more: though thou 
be sought for, yet shall thou never be found 
again, saith the Lord God." Adjoining the 
peninsula on which the miserable village be¬ 
neath us is seated, you perceive what you 
take to be dark rocks rising out of the waves ; 
these are very convenient for the fishermen, 
who here spread their nets in order to be dried. 
These are not rocks; they are the stones of 
Tyre tumbled into the sea by her successive 
destroyers: “ I will make thee like the top of 
a rock ; thou shalt be a jdace to spread nets 
upon." Who now remembers this great city 
whose fall resounded over the seas, and caused 
this song of lamentation to be heard among its 
isles—a song which the prophet had prepared 
beforehand, and taught the kings and cities of 
the earth to sing, when the mournful event 
should have come ? We quote part of this 
hymn of lamentation and depart: “ Thus saith 
the Lord God to Tyrus; shall not the isles 
shake at the sound of thy fall ? Then all the 
princes of the sea shall come down from their 
thrones, and lay away their robes, and put off 
their broidered garments: they shall sit upon 
the ground, and shall tremble at every mo¬ 
ment, and be astonished at thee. And they 
shall take up a lamentation for thee, and say 
to thee, how art thou destroyed, that wast 
inhabited of sea-faring men, the renowned 
city, which wast strong in the sea, she and 
her inhabitants, which cause their terror to be 
on all that haunt it.” 


MEXICO. 

Mexico extends from about latitude sixteen 
to forty-two degrees north, from the gulf of 
Mexico to the Pacific: and was in extent, 
before the loss of Texas, about as large as the 
United States. It embraces all the climates 
of the world, and rises in temperature from 
the tropical plains of Vera Cruz and Acapulco, 
to the regions of perpetual snow. The Rocky 
Mountains, which separate us from Oregon, 
extend through all Mexico, and her whole sur¬ 
face is composed of table-lands and mount¬ 
ains, which rise in steps from the gulf and 
the Rio Grande, to the highest level, and then 
descend in regular gradations once more to the 
Pacific. She has no navigable streams, and 
the mountains and the arid plains compose, I 
should think, seven eighths of the whole ter¬ 
ritory. It is now three hundred years since 


- 1 

I 

205 


the Spanish conquest, and her population has 
long since reached that barrier, where nature 
imposes eternal obstacles to further progress, 
where the whole products of the earth are 
economically consumed by the people. No 
doubt, a better mode of agriculture would in¬ 
crease her population ; but at present, to use 
the language of Mai thus, she has reached the 
point of subsistence. It is true, that the 
remote provinces of California and New Mex¬ 
ico, and those bordering upon the Rio Grande, 
and subject to Indian invasions, contain some 
uncultivated lands; but the proposition, as 
above stated, applies to the mass of Mexico. 
For in the greater portion of the whole repub¬ 
lic, women and children may be seen picking 
up grains of corn in the highways, and the 
rinds of fruit thrown in the streets, are imme¬ 
diately seized and consumed. So soon as you 
cross the Rio Grande, you feel yourself in a 
foreign land. Mexico has no forests. It is 
true, that alone: the streams and on mountain- 
tops there are trees, but you are struck with 
this great characteristic, that the land is bare 
of trees. The numerous varieties of the 
cactus of all sizes, intermixed with palmetto, 
stunted or long grass, cover the whole land. 
You are among a people of a novel color, and 
a strange language. The very birds and 
beasts, and dogs, seem different. The part¬ 
ridge, the lark, the crow, the black-bird, dif¬ 
fer in size, and plumage, and sing differently 
from ours. The buildings are of Moorish and 
Spanish style. The goat and the sheep feed 
together. The bricks are of clay and straw, 
sun-dried. The women go with earthen ves¬ 
sels to the well, just as Rachel was sent of 
old in the time of the patriarchs of Judea. 
The roofs of the houses are flat, and are places 
of recreation ; and the people wear sandals as 
in the East, in olden time. Wheat, Indian 
corn, and herds of cattle, sheep and goats, the 
banana and red-pepper, and garlic and onions, 
are the principal sources of subsistence. The 
products of the mines, are the principal arti¬ 
cles of foreign exchange, added to woods, be¬ 
sides tallow and cochineal. 

The extreme dryness of Mexico, makes 
irrigation necessary in most of the country, 
and the scarcity of water, and the habits of 
the people, collect the inhabitants into cities 
or villages. The land itself is owned by a 
few large proprietors, not the least of whom 
are the priests. The great mass of the peo¬ 
ple are serfs, with but few more rights than 
the American slaves. It is true, that the chil¬ 
dren of serfs, are not of necessity also serfs, 
but debts brings slavery, and the wages allow¬ 
ed by law, almost always perpetuate it. 
Here then is the secret of the success of our 
arms. I conversed freely with the tenantry 
and soldiers in all Mexico, and where they are 












206 WINTER TRAVELLING IN RUSSIA. 


not filled with religious enthusiasm against us, 
they care not who rules them, American or 
Mexican masters. If all the Mexican soldiers 
were freeholders and freemen, not one of all 
the American army could escape from her bor¬ 
ders. The soldiers are caught up in the ha¬ 
ciendas, and the streets of the towns, by force 
confined in some prison or convent, there 
drilled, clothed, armed, and then sent on to the 
regular army. Such men avow their resolu¬ 
tion to desert or run, on the first occasion. Of 
near one thousand soldiers sent from Toluca, 
to the aid of Santa Anna at Mexico, not one 
hundred stood the battle. 

The whole people do not exceed eight mil¬ 
lions ; of these, about two millions are white, 
and mixed bloods; the remainder are native 
Indians, I never, in all Mexico, with the ex¬ 
ception of foreigners in the capital, saw a sin¬ 
gle white man at work. 


WINTER TRAVELLING IN RUSSIA. 

Ouit engraving represents one of the cou¬ 
riers of the cabinet of the emperor of Russia. 
They wear a military uniform, with official 
epaulettes, according to their grade. There 
are constantly a certain number of these cou¬ 
riers in attendance, in a chamber of the impe¬ 
rial palace, to be despatched as occasion may 
require. These are confidential persons, and 
they receive their orders direct from the em¬ 
peror ; and, at any hour of the day or night, 
they are ready to receive instructions for de¬ 
parture, or for delivery of their despatches. 
At each post, there are relays of horses, spe¬ 
cially kept for these couriers, whose approach 
is announced by a bell suspended from a cir¬ 
cle above the head of the centre horse. 

They travel with surprising rapidity, and 
they often receive large sums of money for 
their services. 

The illustration shows the courier seated, 
and the mode by which he carries the des¬ 
patches—in a leather bag; the car, driver, 
and horses, are alike characteristic portrait¬ 
ures. 

Those who have been accustomed only to 
our line roads, and rapid and regular convey¬ 
ances, can form but a very inadequate idea of 
the miseries attending a continental journey, 
more particularly in Russia, where, with the 
exception of the Chaussee, from Moscow to 
St. Petersburgh, the roads are execrable ; the 
springless vehicles, the most agonizing that 
can be imagined ; and the post-houses so dirty, 
so comfortless, that the traveller frequently 
passes the night in the open air, in his travel¬ 
ling-carriage, rather than be exposed to the 


filth, the swarms of vermin, and the disgust¬ 
ing effluvia, that would have annoyed him 
within. 

Excepting those on the great road, already 
mentioned, there are no stage-coaches in Rus¬ 
sia. The traveller is consequently reduced 
to the alternative, of either purchasing an 
equipage, or taking the rude vehicles of the 
country, and changing them at every stage. 

His first preliminary before starting is, to 
give notice three days previously, of his inten¬ 
tion, to the head police-officer of his quarter, 
who gives him a certificate, attesting that he 
has no unliquidated debts, nor any law-suit 
pending: he then procures from the bureau 
of the “ grand-master of the police,” a pass¬ 
port, without which he would not be allowed 
to pass the city gates. His next step is to ar¬ 
range the mode of conveyance ; of these he 
has the choice of two. Upon the payment of 
a stated tax, amounting to about a farthing per 
mile for each horse, he may obtain a govern¬ 
ment order, called a padoroslmee, entitling him 
to demand relays at every station, for which 
he will pay for hire about three fourths more 
for every horse. At each post-house, he will 
find a government officer, called a “ smotre- 
tel,” or over-looker, whose duty it is to en- 
register his name, and furnish the horses, 
which the peasants are bound to supply. Or, 
he may contract with a class of men called 
ytmshtchiJcee , who will undertake to convey 
him to his destination within a specified time. 
The former plan is generally adopted by those 
to whom the trilling additional expense is 
not an object; the latter method is, from its 
novelty, perhaps not unworthy of notice. 

The yemshtchikee are generally, but not 
exclusively, freedmen or crown-vassals, who, 
together with other immunities, enjoy an ex¬ 
emption from military service, upon condition 
of contracting with the government, for the 
regular supply of horses for its couriers, and 
for postoffice duty. They frequent, when in 
the cities, places called, “ postoyalee droree,” 
or post-yards, situate in the principal streets 
entering the town. To these the traveller 
goes—they assemble round him in great num¬ 
bers—he states the distance he wishes to be 
conveyed, and inquires the sum for which they 
will contract to take him ; a consultation fol¬ 
lows, and a price is named, generally as much 
again as they intend to take; he offers what 
he thinks a fair sum; another and another 
eager consultation—and at last, after long bar¬ 
gaining, the contract is made. He starts, and 
is driven two or three stages by the individual 
with whom he contracted, who then disposes 
of his bargain on the best terms he can to an¬ 
other, reserving to himself the difference—the 
amount of which alone the traveller pays him. 
The same transfer is made at intervals upon 














Winter Travelling—Russian Courier. 
















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































203 


WINTER TRAVELLING IN RUSSIA. 


the journey. Sometimes several may wish 
to take the contract: the question is then de¬ 
cided by lot, in a very singular way ; one 
throws his whip into the air—another seizes 
it in falling, and the two then grasp it alter¬ 
nately, hand over hand, till they reach the 
end, when he who last has hold of it is declared 
the winner. 

The yemshtchikee are a fine race of fel- 
lows : some of them, with their dark cluster¬ 
ing hair, their ample beards, their sun-burnt 
features, and their brawny necks, would form 
studies for a Salvator Rosa. There is an air 
of bold frankness about them, which is highly 
pleasing. They have several melodies pecu¬ 
liar to themselves, which they sing almost 
without intermission the whole stage. 

In line -weather, and over good roads, there 
is something delightfully exhilarating in sledge 
travelling; snugly enveloped in furs, while 

. “ The vault is blue 

Without a cloud ; and white without a speck, 

The dazzling splendor of the scenes below ; ’ 

the traveller glides swiftly along the level 
snow, enlivened by the tinkling of the sono¬ 
rous bell, attached to an arch that rises over 
the head of the centre horse, and cheered or 
soothed, as his mood may be, by the wild, yet 
plaintive song of his yemshtchik driver. 

Cheerless as may be imagined 

. . . . “ The deserts tossed in snow 

And heavy-loaded groves” 

of this frigid climate, yet are they not with¬ 
out their charms. In clear frosty weather, 
daybreak, on a vast plain, is pre-eminently 
beautiful. The sober gray of dawn, first 
faintly streaked in the east, with a pale red 
tinge, that gradually deepens into crimson, till 
the sun lifting his broad glowing disk, above 
the horizon, pours his level beams on the un¬ 
sullied purity of the snowy scene, that blush¬ 
es and sparkles in his glance, as glittering like 
gems upon its surface, countless icy crystals 
catch and refract his rays. In peculiar states 
of the atmosphere, the air is charged with in¬ 
numerable atomic congelations, that dance and 
glisten in the sunbeams like minutest diamonds, 
tinged faintly of all the prismatic colors. 
They might also be fancied stray particles of 
frozen light , so brilliantly vivid, yet so impal- 
pably delicate are they, the reader can not fail 
to have remarked, that when a stream of sun¬ 
light is permitted to fall into a darkened room, 
it appears filled with motelike particles inces¬ 
santly in movement; let him then imagine 
the whole circumambient air filled with these, 
all glittering like little gems, and he will have 
some conception of this beautiful atmospheric 
phenomenon. 


The forest, too, has its attractions. The 
snow, hanging in heavy masses on the pine- 
tree, and weighing down its branches, presents 
a striking contrast to the gloomy verdure of 
its dark foliage. The elegant weeping birch- 
tree is another object of interest, assuming 
the appearance of a delicate petrifaction, as 
the gracefully-slender fibres terminating its 
branches, droop to the very ground beneath 
the weight of their lucid covering. 

With the approach of spring, the scene 
changes. Beneath the increased power of the 
sun, the snow loses its resplendent whiteness 
—the gem-like icy crystals are dissolved— 
the fir is stript of its snowy mantle—the birch 
of its glossy covering. The great roads, be¬ 
coming almost impracticable, are deserted, and 
sinuous by-tracks are made over the adjacent 
plains, or through the forests that skirt the 
road ; these in a short time, are intersected 
| by furrows, as regular as those of a ploughed 
field, but much deeper; their torturing monot¬ 
ony is indeed, sometimes varied by the suc¬ 
cession of deep holes, filled with half-melted 
snow, through which the unhappy traveller is 
whirled, plunging and splashing at every step. 
Fancy, reader, for a moment, the luxury of 
being driven in a taxed-cart, or dragged on a 
hurdle, over the frozen ridges of a ploughed 
field, for the space of some five or six hours, 
and you will have some slight notion of the 
pleasures of travelling in Russia in the spring 
of the year. All this might be endured with 
complacency, if the cleanly comforts of a de¬ 
cent inn could be calculated upon, at the end 
of the stage—no such thing is to be found in 
the whole empire, out of the principal cities. 
The only substitute is the peasant’s or yemsh- 
tchik’s house, or the post-house; the latter is 
perhaps preferable, as there the traveller may 
probably get a leathern sofa, on which to rest 
his aching, and almost dislocated bones ; beds 
are quite out of the question, and refresh¬ 
ments of any kind almost equally so. 

The Russian nobility in travelling, take 
with them everything that is necessary for 
the roads ; bedding, rugs, provisions, culinary 
utensils, wax-tapers, &c., with pastiles for 
fumigation, the latter a very necessary pre¬ 
caution, where the olfactories have not all 
together lost their sensitiveness. They are 
invariably accompanied by their cook—as in 
the majority of places, actually nothing is 
procurable, excepting .black bread of "the 
coarsest, description, eggs, and sometimes milk ; 
unless indeed, the traveller be content to par¬ 
take of the peasants’ luxury—boiled grain, 
eaten with hempseed-oil, as black and as thick 
as treacle, or a dish called shtchee , a kind of 
cabbage-soup, in which float a few straggling 
strips of beef. 

It must be distinctly observed, however, 







































LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 209 


that these remarks do not apply to the line of 
road between the two capitals, on which the 
inns are respectable, and not altogether desti¬ 
tute of the comforts of civilized life. 


LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY—N°. 4. 

BY PROFESSOR O. M. MITCHELL. 

We find that all the planets of which we 
have any knowledge, are revolving upon axes 
and all rotate in the same direction on their 
axes that they move in their orbits. Now as 
the earth is sweeping round the sun, it is held 
stationary to that great centre by the attraction 
of gravitation; but it would be held in its po¬ 
sition even if it did not rotate upon its axis at 
all. Gravitation has nothing whatever to do 
with the rotation on its axis. But again: 
we find the earth sweeping round the sun in 
an orbit, the plane of which is located in a 
particular position in the heavens. Now, 
gravity would have held the earth equally 
steady to this centre, if that orbit, instead of 
sweeping in the direction it now does, had re¬ 
volved in any other direction whatever, form¬ 
ing any possible angle with the present orbit. 
Once more: we find all the planets revolve 
about the sun in planes nearly coincident, 
travelling on in nearly the same direction. 
Gravity had nothing whatever to do with the 
inclination of their planes, nor with the start¬ 
ing of these planets in their orbits. If they 
had revolved in contrary directions, gravity 
would have held them just as perfectly ; and 
indeed we find a full confirmation of this truth 
in the fact that the comets which come in from 
every possible section of the heavens, observe 
no particular direction either in the position 
of their orbits or the manner in which they 
sweep around the sun. They, too, are gov¬ 
erned, as are the planets, by the law of grav¬ 
itation. 

Now the question arises at this point: is 
there no evidence of design in the structure 
of our system, that it was built in this way ? 
Why do not all planets sweep in any direction 
at all consistent with the law of gravitation 
and having their planes inclined in any possi¬ 
ble way, as the comets? I will answer it, 
and I think in a way satisfactory to every 
mind. If the system had thus been construct¬ 
ed, it would have contained within itself the 
seeds of its own destruction: it never could 
have endured; the time would have come 
when the planets would have rushed madly 
from their spheres and the whole system have 
been swept to utter destruction. We find that 
in order to preserve the stability of this beau¬ 


tiful system, it is necessary that these planets 
should revolve in the same direction, and that 
the planes of their orbits should be nearly co¬ 
incident with each other, and, furthermore, 
that the law of gravitation has nothing what¬ 
ever to do with the localities of the planets. 
Suppose, for example, that Jupiter could be 
snatched from its present orbit and could oc¬ 
cupy that which the earth now occupies, and 
we could throw the earth out to fill the mighty 
orbit of Jupiter: gravity would hold each of 
these equally steady. But then, even were 
all other bodies to move on in the position they 
now do, or in any combination which now ex¬ 
ists, such an event would produce destruction. 

It is not possible to change places with any 
of these bodies and at the same time preserve 
the stability of the whole. Let us then mark 
the difference between what is absolutely de¬ 
pendent, and what is not dependent upon these 
laws: and in this difference we see that an 
Almighty Power has adjusted this vast ma¬ 
chinery, and that it has been formed in infinite 
wisdom and with infinite skill. 

With these views I shall proceed to the 
examination of the system with reference to 
those bodies recently discovered. But before 
I proceed it will be necessary to make some 
explanation with regard to certain matters in¬ 
volved in this discussion. And first, this mat¬ 
ter of perturbation. I know this subject is 
somewhat difficult to understand; but a few 
words, I think, will be sufficient to render it 
quite plain. Suppose the sun to be located 
at a given point; at a distance equal to the 
shortest distance of the planet Mercury from 
the sun we locate that planet: this is its 
perihelion. Next let us place Venus; then 
the Earth; and so on with all the planets— 
all located in a right line and in their peri¬ 
helion, or nearest position to the sun. Sup¬ 
pose they receive the primary influence which 
starts them on their mighty journeys. Now 
will they all come around again to occupy the 
starting point after a single revolution ? No. 
Will these perihelion points remain in a right 
line after the first revolution ? No. The 
very moment they start they begin to operate 
upon each other through the force of attrac¬ 
tion, and all the elements of every orbit begin 
to be swayed backward and forward. These 
changes are going on perpetually—these peri¬ 
helion points are moving onward, their eccen¬ 
tricities continually changing; and millions 
of millions of years will roll round, when at 
length—at the expiration of some mighty and 
almost inconceivable cycle, when this great ; 
time-piece of eternity shall have struck one — 
they will all occupy their original relative po¬ 
sition and once more start on their immense 
journey. [Applause.] 

Now, this being the case, how is it possible . 


14 














210 LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 


for the human mind to reach to any knowledge 
of the influence of these bodies mutually on 
each other ? for if the limits of their orbits are 
continually shifting, there must be some diffi¬ 
culty in getting at that influence ; for before 
you can make any use of established positions 
they are changed again. This is all literally 
true; and the astronomer is obliged to seize 
every one of them, and even the sun himself, 
and weigh them in a balance: he is obliged to 
ascertain the amount of matter belonging to 
each and all of them; and when be shall have 
attained to this knowledge, he must then com¬ 
pute the influence which each exerts upon the 
other, and thus with long and patient toil trace 
out all their devious wanderings. 

I shall now attempt to explain how it is that 
the weight of these distant orbs is determined. 
How can we weigh this earth against the sun ? 
How can we place them as it were in some 
mighty balance and ascertain precisely how 
much one preponderates over the other ? Fol- 
low me, if you please, in a very brief exposi¬ 
tion of this problem. In the first place, the 
power of gravitation upon any body is deter¬ 
mined, as all know, by the amount of velocity 
i it is capable of producing in a falling body in 
one unit of time. If at the earth’s surface a 
body falls sixteen feet in the first second of 
time, that is the measure of the intensity of 
gravity at that point.—But if this earth did 
not contain the amount which is now in it — 
if it were smaller, a body would not fall so far 
in a second of time.—There is a certain law 
establishing this, which we have ascertained. 
I have already stated that the moon is ever 
falling toward the earth, and the amount by 
which it falls is measured—we know it ex¬ 
actly ; hence we know precisely the influence 
exerted upon the moon by the earth — and 
that is the first point. Now suppose, on the 
opposite side of the moon there was another 
earth, and it were as large as ours and equally 
distant, but contained double the weight of 
matter. At the same distance it would pro¬ 
duce twice the effect of our earth. Increase 
its magnitude to three times and the effect is 
increased in like proportion. Now there is 
: no such other earth, but there is the sun, and 
let us attempt to ascertain the comparative 
weight of the sun and the earth, by weighing 
the amount of action which each exerts upon 
the moon. In the first place, then, the moon 
i! is attracted by the earth and is caused to fall 
| through a certain distance in a given time. 
Secondly, the earth itself is attracted by the 
sun and is caused to fall through a certain 
; space in the same time. Now with reference 
to the magnitude of the sun, I think the moon 
!: and the earth may be regarded as equal. It 
is exactly like dropping two weights one of 
j one pound and the other of two pounds to the 


earth; they will both fall with the same ve¬ 
locity. So with the moon and the earth : the 
difference of their masses may be regarded as 
absolutely nothing. Now the sun deflects the 
earth from a tangent line by a certain amount 
which measures its influence upon the earth ; 
likewise the earth deflects the moon by an 
amount which measures the intensity of its 
force upon that satellite. The amount of de¬ 
flection produced in the orbit of the earth is 
more than double that exerted by the earth 
upon the moon; hence if the sun were equally 
distant from the moon with the earth, it should 
be twice as heavy as the earth, because it 
produces twice as much effect. But the truth 
is., it is not at an equal distance — it is four 
hundred times further off. If then at this dis¬ 
tance it produces twice the effect of the earth 
itself, we must increase it in the ratio of the 
square of 400, or 160,000, this number must 
be multiplied into the exact ratio of the in¬ 
fluence of the two as already estimated at an 
equal distance, which carries it up to 354,436 
earths; and that is the the precise ratio exist¬ 
ing between the mass of the earth and the sun. 
Thus it is that we are able literally and ab¬ 
solutely to weigh these bodies one against the 
other: hence every satellite which revolves 
about its primary planet, gives us the means 
of weighing that primary. 

But what is to be done in cases where there 
are no satellites l Here the problem is more 
difficult. The influence exerted by other 
planets on these bodies in swaying them from 
the paths which they otherwise would have 
pursued, tells us the amount of matter belong¬ 
ing to them. In this way astronomers have 
attained to a most accurate knowledge of the 
value of the mass of all the planets. 

It is true that in the instance of Jupiter, La 
Place in his earlier computations made it out 
different from subsequent discoveries. He 
said that it would require 1067 Jupiters to 
make a mass equal to the sun. He reached 
this conclusion from a series of observation 
made by the astronomer Puond, and when he 
had examined them all critically he said that 
the mass could not be in error by one hun¬ 
dredth part of its value and that the chance 
of its varying to that amount was as eleven 
millions to one. He had brought all the pow¬ 
ers of analysis itself into the calculations, and 
the probabilities of hi3 being in error were as 
I have stated. But it seemed as if chance 
was not to have its peculiar dominion invaded 
in this way, and, if I may be allowed to use 
the expression, chance determined to chastise 
the hand that had ventured to draw aside the 
curtain and unveil her mysteries; for it has 
been proved most positively that that one 
chance out of eleven millions was the one that 
turned up, and La Place was wrong. [Ap- 










LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 211 


plause.] The fact was, the measurements had 
been made indifferently and a long time ago. 
He had used a computation made upon a little 
body called Encke’s comet, and from the 
ethereal mass of the elements of this ghost of 
a world, so filmy that it has not the power to 
lessen even the light of the smallest stars that 
shine through it, he had made his calculation 
: of the mighty orb of Jupiter. The mass of 
Jupiter, as computed by La Place, was em¬ 
ployed to determine how much disturbance 
existed there, and there was not enough. So 
I when this mass was applied to other calcula¬ 
tions and suspicions were aroused that it was 
inaccurately calculated, it excited other meas- 
, urements, until at length all agreed very ac¬ 
curately in giving the mass of Jupiter such, 

: that 1049 such bodies would make one sun. 

We proceed now to the structure of our 
; system. It will be remembered by all who 
’ heard me in my second lecture, that the older 
planets were for a long time known. They 
I are arranged according to a very curious law, 

' with reference to their distance from the sun. 

It is known, for example, that when passing 
I out from the sun to Mercury, and from Mer¬ 
cury to Venus, there is a certain ratio of dis¬ 
tance, which holds true in regard to the dis- 
‘ tance of the other planets, for an immense 
space of 350,000,000 miles, until you come to 
: a mighty gulf, within which no planet was 
! known to revolve ; and the moment that limit 
was passed, the old law was resumed. This 
curious law was detected by Bode. I will 
explain the law in a simple manner. Begin¬ 
ning with the first of this series as nothing, 
and assuming 3 for the first distance, we have 
1 the following series: 0, 3, 6, 12, 24, 48, 96, 
and so on. This is obtained by multiplying 
each succeeding term by two. Now, if you 
add 4 to every term of the series, you have 
another series as follows :— 

Mercury. Venus. Earth. Mars . Jupiter. Saturn. 

4 7 10 16 28 52 100 

and so on. This latter series represents most 
accurately the distance of all the planets from 
the sun. But in passing from Mars to Jupiter 
the link was broken—there was no planet to 
fill up the space—and when Baron de Sac 
detected this law, and found it to be perfect in 
every other instance, he came to the conclu¬ 
sion, and could not resist the conviction, that 
a planet unknown revolved in that space. 
Such was his absolute conviction, that he ac¬ 
tually commenced a computation of its orbit in 
1784. He made out its distance, and publish¬ 
ed the elements of its orbit, fifteen years be¬ 
fore any bodies were known to exist in that 
space. ” In the year 1800 such was the effect 
produced by his investigations, that a congress 
of astronomers met at Lilienthal, to unite upon 
a plan for hunting down this unknown body. 


They agreed to divide the whole region into 
zones, twenty-four in number, or one to each 
astronomer. They commenced their labors on 
the first day of the first year of the present 
centu^, and before they had hardly commen¬ 
ced, one of their number detected a small star 
which did not exist on his chart, although he 
had laid down upon it, as he supposed, all the 
fixed stars. His name was Piazzi, of Paler¬ 
mo. With what anxiety did he wait till the 
following night again to examine this stranger! 
—When the next night came round, to his in¬ 
expressible delight he found it had changed its 
position, and was actually retrograding as a 
planet ought to do. But he did not venture 
to believe he had so soon discovered this un¬ 
known wanderer, and only told his friends he 
had found a very suspicious body and supposed 
it might be a comet, but he could not tell—it 
looked very much like a planet. Baron de 
Sac, when he heard of this discovery at once 
seized it, saying : “ This is my planet which 
I have so long predicted.” He took a few 
observations, but in consequence of the fact 
that it soon fell into the rays of the sun, only 
a few observations could be made, so that but 
for the extraordinary discovery of other bodies, 
by other observations at short intervals it could 
not have been known to be a planet. But 
Baron de Sac at once commenced a computa¬ 
tion of its orbit. They had all agreed in as¬ 
signing to it exactly the place that could be 
occupied, in order to make the law of relative 
distance which had previously been thought 
to exist, apply in this last instance. Baron 
de Sac knew the planet was found, and when 
he compared his own investigations with those 
which were found to result from actual ob¬ 
servation, it was discovered that lie had pre¬ 
dicted its place precisely. 

While all the astronomical world was re¬ 
joicing in the beautiful law and the complete 
establishment of the harmony of the system, 
another object was found—another planet was 
detected which seemed to have an orbit pre¬ 
cisely similar to the one already found. Here 
was a most astonishing anomaly—two planets 
revolving in orbits nearly coincident. The 
like was to be seen nowhere else in the entire 
system. What could be the meaning of this? 
How happened it that these two little bodies 
occupied this place and with orbits so nearly 
equal ? Olbers conceived the idea that they 
were fragments of a former mighty planet 
which, by the action of some powerful force, 
had been rent asunder and scattered in ev¬ 
ery direction.—Strange theory this! passing 
strange! But follow me through this curious 
history, and then decide if there be any founda¬ 
tion for its truth, or whether it is merely an 
astronomical dream. In a very short time, to 
the astonishment of the world, Harding finds 













212 LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 


another planet. There are three. Olbers 
was confirmed in the opinion that his theory 
was true, and, said he, “If this convulsion did 
take place and the fragments were scattered, 
then, inasmuch as they started from the same 
point, they must all revolve to that same point 
in their orbits.” If he could find the place 
where their orbits intersected or crossed each 
other (which we have already explained as 
the nodes), inasmuch as these were common 
points, it might be true such a disruption had 
taken place. It was on this hypothesis that, 
after watching from night to night and from 
year to year in the particular region of this 
node, they finally detected a fourth body. 
Here, at length, were four bodies revolving in 
nearly the same orbits, and thus the truth of 
this wonderful hypothesis was verified. 

Again, an investigation was made to ascer¬ 
tain the amount of force necessary to burst a 
planet and separate its fragments. Le Grange 
demonstrated that with a force 150 times great¬ 
er than that given to a cannon-ball the parti¬ 
cles would sweep off in an orbit called the 
parabola ; but that the force of twenty times 
would give elliptic orbits of different degrees 
of eccentricity. There is also another point: 
in case this theory was true, the larger frag¬ 
ment would occupy more nearly the orbit de¬ 
scribed by the original body, and the smaller 
one revolve more obliquely to the plane of 
the ecliptic.—This was found to be the fact: 
in comparing their bodies and their orbits some 
of the smaller ones made an angle as high as 
30 degrees, with the plane of the ecliptic, and 
had exceeded the plane of the zodiac which 
confines all the rest of the planets. 

When they were thus fixed and determined, 
and after fourteen years of examination all had 
been done that it seemed could be done, and 
the investigations need not continue any fur¬ 
ther with the hope of success, many years roll 
round and finally in December, 1845, we hear 
announced that another of the asteroids had 
been added to the four: Astrsea, discovered by 
Encke of Dresden. He was prosecuting this 
examination for the purpose of finding the nodes 
of the asteroids and on the plane that had been 
previously adopted, having more accurate 
charts of the heavens with the stars more care¬ 
fully laid down. The moment he detected a 
new star he suspected it of being a planet, 
and a few evenings would always settle the 
investigation; and in this way he detected 
Astrsea. For two years he continues, when 
lo! he has found another planet, and Hebe is 
added to our system. But he had scarcely 
described it, when Hinds, an Englishman, has 
fished up another, Iris ; and before we know 
the name given to this one, the same astron¬ 
omer announces another, and Flora is joined 
to the other seven! Thus we have the beau¬ 




tiful phenomenon of a group of eight sisters 
revolving around the sun in orbits of nearly 
equal magnitude, in periods absolutely identi¬ 
cal ; all occupy the centre of the space be¬ 
tween the planets Mars and Jupiter, and by 
their joint action, their joint mass, their joint 
distances, fulfilling this beautiful law of Baron 
de Sac. 

Having gone through the examination of 
these objects, I shall proceed to give an ac¬ 
count of the planet Jupiter. This is the larg¬ 
est in our system, and one of the oldest known. 
We have, indeed, no knowledge of the time 
when this beautiful orb was unknown. Go 
back to the pages of history as far as you 
please—go even beyond the limits of tradition 
—still you find that this planet was known to 
the earliest inhabitants. “ How do we know 
this ?” some will have already inquired. Let 
me tell you. If we go to the records of the 
earliest nations, we find invariably this curi¬ 
ous fact: that the days of the week, seven in 
number, are named after the planets, counting 
the sun and moon, thus—the Sun, the Moon, 
Mars, Mercury, Jupiter, Venus, Saturn. Ev¬ 
ery nation—the Chinese, the Egyptians, the 
Persians, the Chaldeans — have applied the 
names of the planets to the days of the week. 
They do not, to be sure, begin the week on 
the same day ; but beginning with their first 
day, they run round the cycle exactly in the 
same order. There is but one way of ex¬ 
plaining this remarkable coincidence, and that 
is: they must have received this from some 
nation anterior to either of them; it must have 
come down from the same common origin. 
Hence we run back anterior to tradition itself 
to find the first discovery of these planets. 

In this beautiful planet, Jupiter, we find one 
that fastened the gaze of the earliest minds 
that turned their attention to the heavens, and 
by possibility it may have been detected be¬ 
fore Venus; for Jupiter is seen at all possible 
distances from the sun, w'hile Venus is always 
comparatively near. 

When the telescope was first directed to 
this wonderful orb, a sight was revealed to 
the astonished gaze of old Galileo, that seem¬ 
ed almost to stupify his mind; there w r ere four 
beautiful moons revolving about this noble orb, 
obedient to its attraction. You all remember 
that at the time this discovery was made the 
battle was raging between the old and new 
school of philosophers; those who believed 
with Ptolemy and those who followed Coper¬ 
nicus. Galileo had become a convert to 
Copernicus, stood up the champion of truth, 
and fortunately for the world armed himself 
with a power that all the antagonism of earth 
could not withstand. “You tell me,” said 
he, “the earth is the great centre about which 
the universe is revolving; now I tell you that 










LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 213 


yonder globe shows a miniature system like 
our own, and while we have a single moon, 
there is a planet which has no less than four. 
Do not then attempt to impose this impossi¬ 
bility upon me. I do not believe it.” He 
combated those who opposed the progress of 
truth, till finally he incurred the displeasure 
of the church itself. You all know the fact, 
that, borne down by the weight of years, he 
was brought before the inquisition and forced 
to recant his opinions in the most solemn man¬ 
ner ; but such was the power of truth that in 
spite of all the threatening by which he was 
surrounded, as he rose from his knees he 
stamped upon the earth and said, “ She does 
move, though.” 

It seems that Jupiter and its satellites were 
given for a most valuable purpose, and I ask 
your attention to but one or two of their uses. 
And first, the fact that they served to deter¬ 
mine the velocity of light. I know many 
minds revolt from the conclusion which as¬ 
tronomers have reached, when they say that 
light flies twelve millions of miles in a minute, 
and that there are objects so distant that their 
light would require the enormous period of 
fifty thousand years to reach our earth. In 
the language of my “ old friend”—“ this is a 
hard story." It is incredible; but before this 
course of lectures closes I intend to show clear¬ 
ly and positively how this has been determin¬ 
ed and how much reliance is to be placed upon 
this wonderful revelation. 

Previous to the discovery of the satellites 
of Jupiter, and their eclipses, it was believed 
that light passed instantaneously over the most 
distant space. It was believed that if a lamp 
was lighted and the eye could see it through 
a space of millions of miles, that the instant 
it was lighted the eye, if directed toward it, 
would see the light. On the discovery of 
Jupiter’s satellites, they were found revolving 
in such orbits that in every revolution the 
three interior ones were always eclipsed and 
disappeared from the sight. It did not require 
a Ion" series of observations before the astron- 

c 

omer began to predict the coming of their 
eclipses as we do those of the moon. He ex¬ 
amines the result of his computation, and after 
a while detects a certain amount of discrepan¬ 
cy between the observations at the two op¬ 
posite points of its orbit.—He tries again, but 
in spite of all efforts, after long years of toil, 
he could not reconcile the predictions exactly 
with the observations, and then he began to 
inquire if by possibility there could not be a 
law which would reconcile them. Let me 
endeavor to show how this was attained. Sup¬ 
pose the earth to be at a given point in its 
orbit, and Jupiter to be in that part of its orbit 
on the same side as the earth : the distance 
which separates them is precisely the differ¬ 


ence of the distance of their orbits from the 
sun.—But let the earth revolve around to the 
opposite side of the sun and Jupiter remain as 
before : the distance is now increased by the 
whole diameter of the earth’sorbit 190,000,000 
miles. Now the observer on the earth, 
when nearest to Jupiter, will, in the eclipse 
of its satellite, see the light disappear too soon 
according to the computation. Why ? Be¬ 
cause the stream of light is shorter by an 
amount equal to the whole diameter of" this 
orbit, and consequently runs out more quickly. 
—When he takes his observation from the 
opposite side of the earth’s orbit, he finds the 
eclipse comes on too late, because the stream 
has 190,000,000 miles further to run, and of 
course he will continue to see the satellite till 
the stream runs out. Now, then, in this way 
we are able to determine how long it takes 
light to pass across the earth’s orbit. Then 
by ascertaining the exact difference in these 
extreme points, this single calculation of the 
velocity of light would account for all the dis¬ 
crepancies, and reconcile theory and observa¬ 
tion in the most perfect manner. But to pass 
across this orbit requires sixteen minutes; 
hence the velocity must be at the rate of 
12,000,000 of miles in a minute. 

Here, then, is the foundation upon which 
this result was first rested. “ Well,” some 
skeptical mind will say, “that is only a single 
observation ; give me confirmation of it from 
some other sources, or I must reject so aston¬ 
ishing a result.” For a long time the astron¬ 
omer was at fault, and the skeptic had in some 
sense the advantage. But at length a better 
series of observations are at hand. In certain 
examinations of the fixed stars it is found that 
these little points of light, when critically ex¬ 
amined, appear to be moving according to a 
certain law and describing a minute orbit. 
The cause of this was perplexing to the as¬ 
tronomer, and baffled all the efforts of one of 
the strongest minds that ever gave its powers 
to this subject. But finally the explanation 
was discovered in the fact that it was owing 
to the effect produced by the aberration of 
light—that as the ear h swept round its own 
orbit, the light in coming to us caused the body 
to appear in different positions from that in 
which it then occupied. Let me make this 
intelligible. Suppose you desire to cross a 
river, and the stream will carry you down, 
and you wish to land at a point fixed upon on 
the opposite shore. Will you start out from 
an exactly opposite point and row directly 
across to the opposite shore ? By no means, 
because you know you will in that case land 
below. Now how far above will you make 
your starting point ? Just as far above as the 
current will carry you down in the time you 
expect to occupy in crossing. But what has 












ESQUIMAUX INDIANS. 


214 


this to do with the velocity of light ? I will 
tell yon. Every particle of light that leaves 
yonder orb, in coming toward ns sweeps down¬ 
ward in the direction of a right line, and when 
the astronomer turns his telescope to receive 
that point of light and to cause it to pass down 
the axis of the tube, he must take into account 
the fact that he himself is moving with a cer¬ 
tain velocity. As he is borne on by the move¬ 
ment of the earth, he must take in the other 
fact that every particle of light is coming with 
a certain velocity, and he must incline his in¬ 
strument so as to cause it to pass down its 
axis. The amount of inclination depends upon 
the velocity of light, as the distance you would 
be carried down the river depends upon the 
velocity of the water, and when we have in¬ 
clined our tube so that the visual ray shall hit 
the mark, that inclination is precisely what 
ought to be given it. Upon all this calcula¬ 
tion it is found that light travels twelve million 
miles in a minute. Here is confirmation strong 
and irresistible. 

But one step further: it is found that cer¬ 
tain stars are united together—not a planet 
revolving round a sun, but two mighty suns 
revolving about each other. To this matter 
I will call your attention more particularly 
hereafter. In a certain system of double stars 
which had engaged the scrutiny of the very 
ablest minds, there were found discrepancies 
between the observations and computations 
which could not be reconciled for a long time. 
The problem seemed utterly beyond our reach; 
but at last, within a short time, one of the 
German astronomers discovered that the whole 
difficulty has grown out of the fact that the 
velocity of light was not taken into the ac¬ 
count, and that the fact that the star was 
sweeping around a mighty orbit, and thus im¬ 
pressing its own motion upon the particles of 
light was not considered. When it was, all 
the discrepancies disappeared and the velocity 
of light comes out precisely as before. Here, 
then, are three demonstrations from different 
sources all coinciding; I will not say exactly, 
but nearly so. 

The reason why I do not say exactly is this: 
a very short time ago I received a communi¬ 
cation from M. Struve, a Russian astronomer, 
who said he was engaged upon the subject of 
the velocity of light, and had determined what 
is called the constant aberration of the fixed 
stars, and found the value for them was a little 
different from that obtained in regard to the 
satellites of Jupiter.—There was a slight va¬ 
riation, perhaps a thousandth part of the 
whole, yet it could be measured, and he said 
it was impossible there might be a difference 
between the velocity of direct and reflected 
light. And he begs me in consequence of the 
peculiar position of my observatory being more 


advantageous than his, to furnish a series of 
eclipses of the first satellite of Jupiter through 
the next ten years, with a view to determine 
thereby any difference between the actual 
velocity of direct and reflected light. 

The* is the kind of accuracy attempted to 
be attained in our own day ; and this, in truth, 
is the accuracy which is actually reached. 
You may think it is spending time in vain to J 
work for ten years to settle a question in which 
the discrepancy gives you only a second deci¬ 
mal place; but how important it is to know 
whether this mysterious element in the origin¬ 
al movement of light is different from that 
when it impinges upon the surface reflecting 
it, will be perceived when we reflect that the 
computation affects the movements of all these 
bodies, and that by a correct calculation of 
this apparently insignificant feature w'e attain 
to a degree of accuracy that we can not reach 
in any other way. 


ESQUIMAUX INDIANS. 

The vast region of country lying on the 
north shore of the gulf of St. Lawrence, and 
extending to the eastward of the Saguena as 
far as Newfoundland, is generally known un¬ 
der the name of Labrador. It is an exceed¬ 
ingly w r ild and desolate region, and, excepting 
an occasional fishing hamlet, or a missionary 
station belonging to the Moravians, its only 
inhabitants are Indians. Of these the most 
famous tribes are the Red Indians (now almost 
extinct), the Hunting Indians, the Milk-maks, 
and the Esquimaux. The latter are by far 
the most numerous, and it is said that their 
sway extends even to the coasts of Hudson’s 
bay. They are at the same time the wildest 
and most rude inhabitants of this wilderness, 
and in appearance, as well as manners and 
customs, closely resemble the inhabitants of 
Greenland. 

“ During one of my nautical expeditions 
down the St. Lawrence,” says a celebrated 
traveller, “ I chanced to be wind-bound for a 
couple of days at the mouth of a nameless 
river on the north shore, where I happened to 
find a small encampment of Esquimaux Indians. 
The principal man of the party was exceed¬ 
ingly aged, and the only one who could convey 
his thoughts in any other language than his 
own. He had mingled much with the French 
fur-traders of the north, and the French fisher¬ 
men of the east, and possessed a smattering of 
their tongue. Seated by the side of this good 
old man in his lodge, with a moose-skin for 
my seat, a pack of miscellaneous furs to lean 
against, and a rude sea-oil torch suspended 













ESQUIMAUX INDIANS. 


215 


over my head, I spent many hours of one long- 
to-be-remembered night in questioning him 
about his people. The substance of the in¬ 
formation 1 then collected, it is now my pur¬ 
pose to record ; but it should be remembered 
that I speak of the nation at large, and not of 
any particular tribe. 

“ According to my informant the extent of 
the Esquimaux nation is unknown, for they 
consider themselves as numerous as the waves 
of the sea. Much has been done to give them 
an education, and though missionaries of the 
cross have dwelt among them for about a cen¬ 
tury, the majority of this people are at the 
present time in heathen darkness. The men 
are chiefly employed in hunting and fishing, 
and the domestic labor is all performed by 
the women. Their clothes are made in the 
rudest manner imaginable, and generally of 
the coarser skins which they secure in hunt¬ 
ing. They believe in a Supreme Being, who 
has a dwelling-place in the earth, the air, 
and the ocean, and who is both good and evil; 
and they also believe in the immortality of 
the soul, which they describe as similar to air, 
w r hich they can not feel. Their principal 
men are magicians and conjurors, distinguish¬ 
ed, as I infer with good reason, for their 
profligacy. 

“ Whenever a man is sick they attribute the 
cause to the alleged fact that his soul has de¬ 
parted from his txxly, and he is looked upon 
with contempt and pity. The first man who 
came into the world sprang from the bosom of 
a beautiful valley ; in this valley he spent his 
infancy and childhood, feeding upon berries, 
and having on a certain occasion picked a flow¬ 
er that drooped over one of his accustomed 
paths, it immediately became changed into a 
girl with flowing hair, who became his play¬ 
mate, and afterward his wife, and was the 
mother of all living. 

“They believe in a heaven and a hell, and 
consider that the road to the former is rugged 
and rocky, and that to the latter level and 
covered with grass. Their ideas of astronomy 
are peculiar, for they consider the sun, moon, 
and stars, as so many of their ancestors, who 
have, for a great variety of reasons, been 
lifted to the sky and became celestial bodies. 
In accounting for the two former, they relate 
that there was once a superb festival given by 
the Esquimaux in a glorious snow-palace of the 
north, where were assembled all the young 
men and maidens of the land. Among them 
was a remarkably brave youth, who was in 
love with an exceedingly beautiful girl. She, 
however, did not reciprocate this attachment, 
and did all in her power to escape from his 
caresses. To accomplish this end she called 
upon the Great Spirit to give her a pair of 
win<»s; and having received them, she flew 

O 1 ® 


into the air, and became the moon. The 
youth also endeavored to obtain a pair of 
wings, and after many months, finally suc¬ 
ceeded ; and on ascending to the sky he be¬ 
came the sun. The moon they say, has a 
dwelling-place in the west, and the sun an¬ 
other in the east. They account for thunder 
and lightning by giving the story of two wom¬ 
en who lived together in a wigwam, and on 
one occasion had a most furious battle. Dur¬ 
ing the affray the cabin tumbled in upon them, 
causing a tremendous noise, while the women 
were so angry that their eyes flashed fire. 
Rain, they say, comes from a river in the sky, 
which, from the great number of people who 
sometimes bathe in it, overflows its banks, and i 
thus comes to the earth in show’ers. 

“ When one of their friends has departed 
this life, they take all his property and scatter 
it upon the ground, out of his cabin, to be pu¬ 
rified by the air; but then in the evening they 
gather it together and bury it by the side of 
his grave.—They think it wrong for the men 
to mourn for their friends, and think them¬ 
selves defiled if they happen to touch the body 
of the deceased, and the individual who usual¬ 
ly performs the office of undertaker, is con¬ 
sidered unclean for many days after fulfilling 
his duty. 

“ The women do all of the wailing and 
weeping, and during their mourning season, 
which corresponds with the fame of the de¬ 
ceased, they abstain from food, wear their 
hair in great disorder, and refrain from every 
ablution. When a friendless man dies, his 
body is left upon the hills to decay, as if he 
had been a beast. When their children die, 
they bury the body of a dead dog in the same 
grave, that the child may have a guide in his 
pathway to an unknown land, to which they , 
suppose all children go. 

“Polygmay, as such, amongthe Esquimaux 
is practised only to a limited extent, but mar¬ 
ried men and women are not over scrupulous 
in their love affairs. Unmarried women, how¬ 
ever, observe the rules of modesty with pecu¬ 
liar care, and the maiden who suffers herself 
to be betrayed is looked upon with infamy. 
When a young man wishes to marry, he first 
settles the matter with his intended, and then, 
having asked and obtained her father’s per¬ 
mission, he sends two old women to bring the 
lady to his lodge, and they are considered one. , 
Children are taught to be dutiful to their pa¬ 
rents, and until they marry they always con¬ 
tinue under the paternal rod. 

“ The amusements of the Esquimaux do not 
differ materially from those of the Indian 
tribes generally. They are fond of dancing, 

| playing ball, and a species of dice game, while 
the women know of no recreation but that of 
dancing and singing.” 











216 WATER IN THE DESERTS. 


WATER IN THE DESERTS. 

A cheap and convenient mode of procuring 
water is adopted in some places, where the 
sinking of wells would be either too expensive, 
or, from the great depth, quite impracticable. 
The method is simply by boring with a kind 
of large auger, till the instrument reach to a 
reservoir of water under ground, which then 
rises to the surface through the auger-hole, 
and issues in a jet, hy means of a tin-pipe, 
which is fixed in the opening. This method, 
however, will only be successful in certain 
situations, and these occur chiefly in districts 
where the rock next the soil is formed of beds 
of sandstone. When these beds lie sloping 
upon one another, water oozes into the soil at 
their upper edges and continues trickling down 
between the layers, and gathering by the same 
process from different quarters, till it runs 
alona: in some of the interstices in a constant 
but slow current. It is forced to flow down 
the slope by the accumulated weight of its 
own body above, but finds no ready vent in 
the downward direction it is pursuing ; hence 
it works onward under a great pressure ; and 
if any opening is presented to it either above 
or below, it rushes into it with great force. 
Such an opening is the auger-hole of the 
borers, which, lighting on a body of water 
thus pressed on all sides, is filled instantly, 
and becomes a fountain throwing out its jet 
often to a considerable height. This mode 
has been practised with great and beneficial 
success in some of the sandstone districts of 
England, formerly ill supplied with water; 
but more interest is attached to it from a trial 
which has been made in certain places of 
Africa, where water is as scarce and as valu¬ 
able as in a ship that has been six months at 
sea. The experiment was tried by Mr. 
Briggs, the British consul in Egypt, under 
the patronage of the pacha of that country, and 
was attended with complete success. Wells 
were opened, and reservoirs formed of thou¬ 
sands of cubic feet of water, in places where 
the sands had hardly ever been moistened, 
even by a shower, since the creation of the 
world, and where the Arabs, in performing 
the ceremonial washings of the body required 
by their Mohammedan law, were obliged, like 
sparrows on a dusty road, to go through the 
forms with sand in the absence of water. 
These reservoirs were formed, we believe, on 
what would, if water were present, be a great 
commercial line of communication between 
the Nile and the Red sea; and there is every 
prospect that they will be the means of estab¬ 
lishing such a line. But the importance of 
the discovery would be ill appreciated, were 
we to suppose its operations limited to this 
point. The vast sandy desert of Africa, a 


tract more than 2,000 miles long, and 1,000 
broad, is almost without water, and has hither¬ 
to been a barrier preventing all communication 
between the northern shores of the country, 
and the fertile districts southward in the in¬ 
terior. This region is everywhere filled with 
districts presenting the same kind of forma¬ 
tion of rocks, as that in which water has been 
so easily procured elsewhere; and there is 
hence the prospect that wells may be opened 
on the route from Tripoli to Fezzan, Bornou, 
and Timbuctoo, on a road which is now cov¬ 
ered with the bones of thousands who have 
died from want of water in attempting to pass 
it. Major Denham was at times waked from 
a revery on horseback while passing this 
dreary track of sand, by his horse’s hoofs 
treading on the ci’ackling and dried skeletons 
which lay in the way, of travellers who had 
perished by thirst. The probability of find¬ 
ing water, by boring, on this route, is increased 
by the opinions current among the natives, 
who believe that there is here what they call 
an underground sea , and that it is only on the 
surface that drought prevails. There is, be¬ 
sides, no doubt that the same kind of structure 
exists here which has furnished water in other 
places; and it is more than likely that wells 
might be found, not only for supplying travel¬ 
lers, but for carrying on cultivation. This 
simple discovery, therefore, may, in process 
of time, have an effect as powerful upon the 
torrid districts of the earth, as any of the great 
inventions of modern times have produced in 
Europe. It is only the want of water w’hich 
leaves the central parts of both Arabia and 
Africa in the state of deserts. If the soil were 
duly moistened, it would be as fertile as other 
parts of the tropics; and there is much reason 
to anticipate, that, when this process comes to 
be understood and valued as it ought, many 
portions of the desert will become so. It is an 
agreeable idea to anticipate, that an apparently 
trifling discovery, originating from the geolo¬ 
gical science of England, may be the means of 
raising up new corn-islands in the African 
sands, and conferring on the wandering Be¬ 
douin many of the blessings of civilization. 

Female Education. —The present system 
of female education, aims too much at embel¬ 
lishing a few years of life, which are in them¬ 
selves so full of pleasure and happiness that 
they hardly need it, and then leaves the rest 
of existence a miserable prey to vacancy and 
idle insignificance. The real object of educa¬ 
tion is to give children resources that will en¬ 
dure as long as life endures, habits that time 
will ameliorate, not destroy, occupations that 
will render sickness tolerable, solitude pleas¬ 
ant, age venerable, life more dignified and 
useful, and death less terrible. 
































































































































































































218 CHURCH OF ST. GUDULE.—A VISIT TO VENICE. 


CHURCH OF ST. GUDULE. 

Tiie church of St. Gudule situated in Brus¬ 
sels is of the Gothic order of architecture, and 
has a majestic appearance. It is one of the 
most ancient of the old country, the founda¬ 
tions having been laid in 1010. though it was 
rebuilt in 1226. Its shape is that of a cross, 
the door on account of its location upon the 
side of a hill is reached by a flight of steps 
some forty in number, and two square towers 
of equal height give the facade an imposing 
e fleet. 

The interior of the church is simple and 
dreary, and the large pillars which sustain the 
roof are without any ornament though colos¬ 
sal statues of Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary, 
and the apostles are attached to different pil¬ 
lars. These statues are the work of the sculp¬ 
tures of those days, though they have no great 
claims as works of art. 

The principal altar is modern in its appear¬ 
ance and the tabernacle contains an ingenious 
piece of mechanism by which the holy sacra¬ 
ment is made to rise or fall according to the 
wish of the priest. On the left of the altar is 
a superb mausoleum erected by archduke 
Albert to the memory of John II. duke of 
Brabant, who died in 1312, and his wife Mar¬ 
garet of England who died 1318. The monu¬ 
ment which covers their cinders is of black 
marble, surmounted by a lion. Opposite to 
this monument is that of the archduke Ernest, 
who died in Brussels in 1595. The monu¬ 
ment also in this edifice, consecrated to the 
memory of Chauvine Triest, is the work of 
Simonis. Charity is represented by a female 
holding upon her knees a newborn infant and 
inclining to the left she is offering to one older 
a shell filled with water for its thirst. On the 
right is a third child still older, in the attitude 
of rendering thanks to Heaven for the benefits 
which charity bestows upon himself and broth¬ 
ers. The subject has been often treated but 
never more cleverly. 

The most remarkable object of interest, 
especially to the stranger, is the pulpit of Saint 
Gudule sculptored in wood, of which we give 
a representation. It will be seen that the de¬ 
signer Henry Verbruggen was entirely origin¬ 
al in this conception. It represents Adam and 
Eve chased by the angel from the garden of 
Ede i—O n the right, Death also follows them, 
and on the top the Holy Virgin is crushing 
the head of the serpent with a cross which she 
holds in her hand. The work is finished with 
great care, though we can not conceive for 
what purpose the originator introduced the 
monkey and birds which are perched there, 
and when we witnessed it excited the risibilities 
of the visiters. The other figures are symbol¬ 
ical and easily comprehended. 


A VISIT TO VENICE. 

On the 5th of September last, an hour or 
two before sunset, I took my place in the 
diligence, which twice a week leaves Milan 
for Venice. At ten o’clock we reached Ber¬ 
gamo, and stopped half an hour in its suburb, 
the Faubourg St. Leonard , from which the 
city, built on a hill, or rather a mountain, and 
enclosed by massive walls, showed most beau¬ 
tifully in the moonlight. Some hours after, 
we made a similar halt at Brescia, another 
ancient city, rich in magnificent edifices and 
Roman remains, the centre of a fertile prov¬ 
ince. Soon after sunrise, our road lay for many 
miles along the margin of a beautiful lake, 
formerly called Benacus, now the Lac de 
Garda , its shores studded with pretty vil¬ 
lages. At noon we reached Verona, situated 
on both banks of the Adige, over which river 
are thrown four beautiful bridges. This city, 
so captivating to the imagination from its as¬ 
sociations with “ Romeo and Juliet” and the 
“ Two Gentlemen of Verona,” possesses, in 
visible reality, one of the most perfect and re¬ 
markable Roman relics to be found in all Italy. 
The celebrated amphitheatre of Verona is, 
this day, in its interior structure, almost ex¬ 
actly what it was, when, nearly eighteen hun¬ 
dred years ago, twenty thousand Romans, 
seated on its marble benches, watched with 
eager eyes the gladiatorial combats in the 
arena below. The exterior circumference of 
this vast elliptical edifice is fourteen hundred 
and thirty-four feet; the height of the cornice 
from the level of the street, one hundred feet. 
Within, the tiers of seats, forty-five in num¬ 
ber, ascend from the arena to the level of the 
third story of external arches—of which only 
four remain of the seventy-two that, arranged 
in three stories, originally formed the facade 
of this grand structure. 

Our stay of two hours at Verona barely 
sufficed for a visit to the amphitheatre, after 
which we dined and resumed our places in the 
diligence. It was near sunset when we 
reached Vicenza, a city of palaces, the en¬ 
during memorials of opulence and splendor 
long since departed. Vicenza was the birth¬ 
place of the celebrated architect Palladio, 
and he adorned his native city with magnifi¬ 
cent edifices, which in any other land than 
Italy would attract crowds of admiring pilgrims 
from all quarters. I walked awhile through 
its silent and deserted streets, gazing at the 
beautiful architecture, which seemed still more 
impressive to the imagination from being thus 
strangely contrasted with the air of desolation 
around. 

At Vicenza, a gentleman and lady, the 
former in a half-clerical dress, took places in 
the diligence, and I soon had occasion to con- 









A VISIT TO VENICE. 219 


gratulate myself on this accession to our party. 
My previous companions had been very cour¬ 
teous in their manners, but, as they spoke only 
Italian, our verbal intercourse had been very 
limited. This they probably intimated to the 
new-comer, for he soon addressed himself to 
me in French, and finding that I was a pilgrim 
from a land so distant, entered into a very in¬ 
teresting conversation in regard to the most 
remarkable objects to be sought after in Italy. 
Rarely have I met with more courtesy and 
politeness than this stranger manifested. My 
difficulty in understanding the French when 
spoken, only served to display the more per¬ 
fectly a degree of patience and urbanity on 
his part, which, I greatly fear, a foreigner, 
situated as I was in Italy, would rarely find 
in our own country. He was evidently a man 
of superior intellect, as well as polished man¬ 
ners ; and I have since conjectured that he 
might be a professor in the university at Padua. 
At length, it being now dark, our conversation 
declined, fatigue overpowered me, and I fell 
asleep. When I awoke, I found myself alone 
—the sole occupant of the diligence, which 
was no longer in motion. I looked out of the 
window; the moon was shining on the high 
walls of a vast edifice, enclosing the paved 
courtyard in which I thus unexpectedly found 
myself; the horses had been taken away— 
not a human being was in sight—all around 
was quiet and solitary. Scarcely yet restored 
to full consciousness. I got out of thb diligence, 
and, passing under an arched gateway at one 
corner of the court, came out into the open 
street. Here the first object that met my eye 
was a magnificent palace of white marble, 
with a facade of perfect Grecian architecture, 
beautiful Corinthian pillars sustaining the ex¬ 
tensive portico, on which the moon was shed¬ 
ding her softest radiance—presenting altogether 
such a scene as fancy conjures up in our dreams. 
I looked at my watch : it was near midnight. 
Ascending the broad flight of steps, I entered 
a vast and sumptuous hall, rich in marble, 
brilliantly lighted up. but perfectly empty. 
Beyond this was another equally spacious hall, 
similar in appearance, and lighted like the 
first; here were a few persons seated at small 
tables, and in one corner a sort of bar , or stand 
for refreshments. This last savored of reality; 
I approached and uttered the word “ cioc- 
colata this word broke the spell, and the 
enchanted palace seemed transformed almost 
to a cafe, when an attendant placed on a mar¬ 
ble table a small metallic pitcher of chocolate, 
and some light cake. But what could this 
vast and magnificent palace be ? And why 
should its halls be so brilliantly lighted at that 
dead hour of night? The mystery was not 
solved till some days after, when, returning 
from Venice, I found this same palace, at the 


hour of two in the morning, open and lighted 
as before. The place was Padua , so cele¬ 
brated for its university ; and this magnificent 
cafe (for such it was, though unrivalled in 
size), is sustained by the special patronage 
of the students, who occupy the rooms above, 
and for whose accommodation, as well as that 
of the travellers who pass this way, to and 
from Venice, at all hours, it is kept open and 
lighted all night. 

Leaving Padua, I had the whole interior 
of the diligence to myself, and soon fell 
asleep. An hour after, I awoke, looked out 
on the road. It lay on the bank of a canal, 
extending through a country perfectly level. 
On the opposite side of the road from the canal, 
the soft moonlight fell on a long succession of 
palaces—the country residences of the ancient 
nobility of Venice, each with a beautiful gar¬ 
den in front, and adorned with a profusion of 
statues, some placed on the tops of the princi¬ 
pal edifice, others ranged along the garden 
walls, or disposed among the shrubbery. The 
great number of these statues astonished me, 
and as the bright moonlight fell on them, ex¬ 
hibiting their various attitudes, some, with 
the deep blue sky for the background, and 
others on the walls, so near that the expres¬ 
sion of the face was distinctly visible, there 
was a loveliness and enchantment about the 
scene altogether unique. The diligence drove 
rapidly along, and still the same prospect con¬ 
tinued for miles. Sleep again overpowered 
me, and when I next woke the palaces had 
disappeared, and the perfectly level road, 
straight as an arrow, was in view for a long 
distance ahead. At 3 o’clock in the morning, 
we arrived at a small town (Mestre) at the 
termination of the main land, where we left 
the diligence, and went on board a gondola 
for Venice, distant now but seven miles. This 
going out to sea in quest of a city, was some¬ 
thing new. We soon left the narrow canal 
for the open water, and when the eastern sky 
was tinged with the first ruddy hues of morn¬ 
ing, the domes of Venice were in full view, 
the city seeming to rise out of the sea. I 
shall never forget that view of Venice, with 
the crimson sky for the background, and the 
exulting feeling when I found myself in the 
vicinity of this “ ultima thule” of my wander¬ 
ings—at least in this direction. 

At a police station, built on piles in the wa¬ 
ter, our passports were examined. Soon after, 
we entered the grand canal, the Broadway 
of Venice, lined with ancient and magnificent 
palaces. At the posta, the mails were dis¬ 
charged, the conducteur and other passengers 
landed, leaving only myself and two young 
Spaniards, who had come from Milan in the 
“ rotonde” of the diligence, and who had in 
view the hotel which I had selected. It was 







220 A VISIT TO VENICE. 


situated near the termination of the grand 
canal, where it opens into the broader channel 
on the southeastern side of the city; the sun 
was just rising, as we stepped from the gondola 
upon its stone staircase projecting into the 
water. There were but two rooms unoccupied 
in the house, neither of them very inviting in 
appearance; I took possession for the time of 
the one assigned me, closed the blinds, went 
to bed, and slept four hours. I rose at ten 
o’clock perfectly refreshed, took breakfast, and 
set off in quest of better lodgings, which I soon 
secured at the hotel d’ltalia. Having in¬ 
trusted my passport to the commissionaire, I 
next repaired to the jposta (postoffice) and 
there, to my great satisfaction, secured a seat 
in a diligence which, after three days, would 
set off'for Bologna and Florence. This done, 
my mind was free from all solicitude; 1 had 
nothing to do for three days, but to see and 
enjoy as much of Venice as possible. I strolled 
through its narrow streets—so narrow that 
with extended hands you can touch the walls 
on each side—and soon found my way to the 
grand centre of resort, the Piazza di San 
Margo. This is a spacious open square, hav¬ 
ing on one side the church of St. Mark, and 
on the other three sides three magnificent 
palaces, united at the angles, and thus forming a 
complete enclosure. The basements of these 
palaces present in front an unbroken series of 
arcades, occupied with numerous cafes and 
shops, affording a most delightful shelter for 
the crowds that daily assemble there. Under 
these arcades there are also, at intervals, pas¬ 
sages to the streets in the rear. On the side 
of the square near the church, is the splendid 
tour de Vhorloge (clock-tower) rich in mar¬ 
ble and gilding. Two statues in bronze are 
conspicuous on its top, and by an ingenious 
piece of mechanism, these figures, called “the 
Moors,” are seen to elevate their arms and 
strike the hours. This they do in a style quite 
like life. 

The glorious old church of St. Mark, so 
intimately associated with every thought of 
Venice, is not easily described. It was begun 
A. D. 976, and completed in 1071. How 
strange do these dates sound in American ears! 
How indescribable are the feelings of a pilgrim 
from the new world, when he finds himself on 
the threshold of that grand and time-honored 
edifice, and feels that he is indeed in Venice, 
and amid the monuments of a national history 
even more remarkable than that of Rome ! A 
handful of exiles, driven by despair to take ref¬ 
uge on a narrow strip of barren sand, lay there 
the foundations of a mighty empire ; without 
vegetation, without drinkable water, without 
building materials, almost without soil on 
which to build, they erect a city in the midst 
of the waves of the sea. This state without 


a territory, this city floating as it were on the 
Adriatic, strong only in the indomitable enter¬ 
prise and invincible courage of its inhabitants, 
attracts to itself the commerce of the world, 
sways the sceptre of the seas, itself a republic, 
gives laws to proud empires, and grown now 
to colossal size, overshadowing the nations, 
fills the measure of its fame by that splendor 
in the fine arts, which to this day remains, 
alas! the only relic of its ancient glory. Such 
is the history of Venice, from its origin about 
the middle of the fifth century, to the extinc¬ 
tion of its independence in 1796. 

Some idea of the sumptuous architecture 
of the church of St. Mark may be formed 
from the fact that the number of pillars of 
marble, porphyry, verd-antique, etc., within 
and without, is not less than 500. Bronze, 
gold, and mosaics, everywhere meet the eye. 
Just in front of the principal entrance, the spot 
where the reconciliation took place in 1177 
between Pope Alexander III. and the emperor 
Frederick Barbarossa, is indicated by some 
pieces of red marble in the pavement. 

Close to the church stands the doge’s pal¬ 
ace, an edifice as grand and imposing in its 
architecture, as it is interesting in its historical 
associations. It occupies one side of th e piaz- 
zetta , a small square, which extends from one 
angle of the place of St. Mark to the water, 
the two quadrangles together resembling in 
shape the letter L. This palace was built 
near the middle of the fourteenth century, 
when Marino Faliero was doge of Venice. 
Entering the principal gate, and crossing the 
interior court, you ascend the celebrated giant 
staircase, so called from its being ornamented 
with two semi-colossal statues of Mars and 
Neptune—emblems of the military and naval 
power of the republic. Just at the head of 
this staircase the doges were crowned, and 
this same spot, Byron, following tradition, has 
represented as the scene of the execution of 
Marino Faliero. 

The doge’s palace is preeminently the place 
to which the stranger must resort in order to 
feel the full impression of the past—whose 
memorials here surround him. Its vast and 
numerous halls are filled with historical paint¬ 
ings, picturing to the eye all those scenes and 
transactions which are associated with Vene¬ 
tian glory. In one of these is a series of 
geographical paintings, delineating the different 
countries discovered and visited by the Vene¬ 
tians, in the proudest days of the republic. 
Of the numerous pictures in the different halls, 
those interested me most which most vividly 
depict her ancient power and splendor; such, 
for instance, as that of the doge Cicogna, re¬ 
ceiving the Persian ambassadors—Pope Alex¬ 
ander III. advancing to meet the doge Se- 
bastien Ziani, returning from his victory over 












IT — ■ - 

A VISIT TO VENICE. 221 


Frederick Barbarossa—tlie pope presenting a 
sword to the doge, as he embarks—the return 
of a doge after his victory over the Genoese 
—the doge Henry Dandolo (who, at the age 
of 97 years, and blind, led the Venetians to 
the capture of the ancient Byzantium) crown¬ 
ing the emperor Baldovino at Constantinople 
— the doge, surrounded by his council, re¬ 
ceiving the deputations of cities offering them¬ 
selves as voluntary subjects of the republic— 
numerous battles of the Venetians, etc. To 
gaze on these paintings, most of them the 
works of great masters—to feel that you are 
standing on the very spot where many of 
these memorable scenes occurred—to look out 
from the windows of the palace on the mole 
where the embarkation depicted on the canvass 
took place — to repeople in imagination the 
quiet squares beneath you, where in the heat 
of the day but a few loungers are seen, with 
those exulting throngs that crowded in past 
ages to these grand demonstrations of Venetian 
glory — these are things that take powerful 
possession of the soul, and cause it indeed to 
live in the past. Never before had I so felt 
the power of historical painting. 

The portraits of one hundred and fifteen 
doges extend along the upper part of more than 
one hall. In the place where should have 
been that of Marino Faliero, is this inscription 
on a black ground—“ Hie est locus Marini 
Falierii decapitati pro criminibus.” The ef¬ 
fect of this is most impressive. 

On the place of St. Mark stand three lofty 
flag-stalls, resting on richly ornamented pedes¬ 
tals of bronze. From these were once dis¬ 
played the standards of the republic, indicating 
her dominion over Cyprus, Candia, and the 
Morea. 

The campanile, or tower of St. Mark, is an 
isolated square tower near the church. From 
the top of it I gazed with no common delight 
on the beautiful city below, the neighboring 
islands, the blue waters of the Adriatic, and 
the distant mountains of the Tyrol. When 
this glorious panorama was spread out before 
me, beneath that cloudless sky, I felt sure 
that no city in Italy, no one in the world, 
could rival the perfect enchantment which its 
scenery and its history impart to Venice. 

The contrast between the past glory and 
present decay of this renowned city is exceed¬ 
ingly impressive. Yet, politically and com¬ 
mercially unimportant as she now is, there 
are many things which to the stranger mate¬ 
rially diminish the painful sensations which 
such a contrast is fitted to produce. The en¬ 
during glories of architecture, statuary, and 
painting, still remain, though the sceptre of 
power and pride has departed from Venice. 
There appear to be, also, far more industry 
and general comfort here, than in most of the 


other Italian cities. Not only are the crowds 
that congregate in the evenings at the piazza 
and piazzetta, well dressed and genteel in ap¬ 
pearance, but the lower class generally appear 
in better circumstances than elsewhere in 
Italy. 

As there were no excursions to be made out 
of the city, three busy days sufficed for very 
extensive rambling through its narrow streets, 
as well as for repeated visits to the objects of 
greatest interest. A connoisseur in the fine 
arts would indeed wish to spend weeks or 
months here, but for those who are not so, it 
is perhaps the best policy to compress in as 
small compass as possible the pleasure of visit¬ 
ing such scenes, and to leave them before they 
have even begun to pall on the sense. To 
me, Venice will ever be enchanted ground, 
and the glimpse I had of its glories, brief as 
it was, yet sufficient for vivid impression and 
enduring remembrance, was a chapter of the 
purest poetry of life. It might have degen¬ 
erated into prose, had I stayed long enough to 
associate it chiefly with every-day occurrences 
and commonplace companions. It so happen¬ 
ed that here I was absolutely without acquaint¬ 
ances, and except at the table d'hote of the 
hotel, had little occasion to hold intercourse 
with any one; and I was precisely in that 
mood of mind in which this circumstance was 
most delightful. The objects around me were 
eloquent, and I would on no account have had 
the effect of their eloquence frittered away by 
ordinary chit-chat. The gorgeous architecture 
of those time-honored palaces and temples, and 
the memory of the stirring events with which 
many of them are associated, furnished in¬ 
exhaustible food for that delicious revery, to 
which the voluptuous softness of the air, and 
the repose of all nature beneath that cloudless 
sky, seemed of themselves to invite. 

Venice is built on about seventy small islands, 
separated from each other by a great number 
of canals. The number of bridges crossing 
these canals is said to be three hundred and 
six. Even in Amsterdam there are wide 
streets traversed by light vehicles, and, since 
the opening of the railway, by one or two 
omnibuses ; but in Venice, not a horse or car¬ 
riage of any kind is to be seen; the narrow 
streets, and the bridges, often at an elevation 
reached by stone steps, are adapted exclusively 
to pedestrians. Besides the spacious squares 
(the piazza and piazzetta), adjoining each 
other, near the church of St. Mark, there are 
few public places large enough for general re¬ 
sort, and accordingly, these constitute the chief 
promenade. 

The grand canal, far exceeding the rest 
in width, winds its serpentine way through 
the city, dividing it into unequal parts. There 
is but one bridge over it, the celebrated Rialto, 










222 


A VISIT TO VENICE. 


which thus connects the two groups of islands 
on which the city is built. A double range 
of shops extends over this bridge, dividing it 
into three parallel streets, generally filled with 
a gay and laughing throng. The Rialto makes 
also a fine appearance from the water, being 
built of stone, and spanning the canal by a 
single high arch, beneath which the black 
gondolas are passing and repassing continually. 

The churches of Venice are magnificent in 
architecture and sumptuous in their decora¬ 
tions, enclosing a great number of paintings 
by the first masters, and many of them con¬ 
taining vast sepulchral monuments of most 
elaborate sculpture, in memory of the doges and 
distinguished nobility of former years. Those 
erected in honor of distinguished artists are 
still more attractive, especially from the juxta¬ 
position of chefs d'veuvres which will perpetu¬ 
ate their fame. In the church S. Maria dei 
Frari, I paused for a long time at the monu¬ 
ment to Canova, erected in 1827. Its magnifi¬ 
cent sculpture is the result of the labors of 
seven of the most distinguished living Venetian 
artists, after a model designed by Canova him¬ 
self for a sepulchral monument to Titian , who 
lies interred in the same church, and to whom 
a monument, just opposite to Canova’s, is not 
yet completed. That to Canova is a pyramid 
of white marble, with exquisitely sculptured 
mourning figures ranged on steps leading to a 
door, representing the opening to a sepulchre. 
An account of the last hours of Canova which 
I had read some years previous, made my visit 
to his tomb exceedingly interesting. I thought 
of him as one whose love for the beautiful had 
not been limited to material forms—whose soul 
had imbibed a pure and elevating influence 
from communion with ideal excellence. A 
peculiar purity and chasteness characterize 
his works, and are nowhere more conspicuous 
than in his celebrated Venus , which I saw 
afterward at Florence. 

Of the churches which I visited, except St. 
Mark’s, none seemed to me to surpass that of 
Santa Maria della Salute. This gorgeous 
edifice was built by the republic, then in its 
highest glory, in fulfilment of a vow made on 
occasion of the plague which in 1630 swept 
off thousands of victims. It stands in a con¬ 
spicuous place not far from St. Mark’s, on the 
opposite side of the grand canal, just where 
the latter opens into the broad channel. It is 
most profusely ornamented, comprising no 
fewer than one hundred and twenty-five 
statues, besides numerous celebrated paint¬ 
ings, and is surmounted by a magnificent 
dome. 

Not far from this church, on the same bank 
of the grand canal, is the academy of fine arts, 
containing a rich collection of paintings, chiefly 
of the Venetian school. The two paintings 


here that interested me most were the Resur- 
ruction of Lazarus, and the Death of Rachel. 
In the latter of these, the beautiful face of her 
who lies extended on the couch — the deep 
grief of Jacob as the wife of his love is ex¬ 
piring—the attitude of Joseph, and the infant 
in charge of the nurse—make up a scene in¬ 
expressibly touching. 

As an omnibus ride after dinner was not to 
he had in Venice, I took, as an excellent sub¬ 
stitute for it, an excursion in a gondola. Set¬ 
ting off near the place of St. Mark, the gon¬ 
dolier proceeded leisurely along the canal, 
giving me time to admire the palaces on its 
banks, till, at some distance beyond the ponte 
Rialto, by one of the numerous canals open¬ 
ing to the right, we passed through to the 
shallow water on the northern side of the city. 
The sun was setting when we reached this 
point, and the view w r as most enchanting. 
Passing by the arsenal, whose strong walls, 
flanked by towers, enclose a space nearly two 
miles in circumference, I stopped afewminutes 
at the public gardens. When I left the gon¬ 
dola, the full moon was shining on one of the 
loveliest scenes that can well be imagined. 
The place of St. Mark, and the adjoining 
square which fronts on the broad channel, were 
now filled with promenaders. Hundreds of 
chairs in front of the cafes were occupied by 
parties of ladies and gentlemen, refreshing 
themselves with ices and lemonade, and occa¬ 
sionally serenaded by musicians of both sexes, 
who, after their song was ended, collected a 
moderate tribute from the audience. In one 
of the cafes I took up a Paris newspaper 
which discussed at some length the question, 
who would be the next president of the United 
States. It seemed strange to read of “ Mon¬ 
sieur Webster de Boston,” and “Monsieur 
Clay de Kentucky,” under the shadow of the 
doge’s palace at Venice. 

The followiug evening was the last of my 
stay. At eight o’clock it was necessary for 
me to be at the posta. In compliance with 
the usual requisition, my baggage had been 
sent some hours before, I had settled my bill 
at the hotel, and received the courteous fare¬ 
wells of my landlord, whose English “good- 
by” had a very kindly sound, when super¬ 
induced upon his customary French. 

Once more, and for the last time, I stood in 
the piazza , and yielded to the full inspiration 
of the place and the hour. Every beautiful 
object was more beautiful beneath the moon¬ 
light, and, to heighten the enchantment of the 
scene, the band of music connected with the 
Austrian garrison, numbering at least eighty 
musicians, with a great variety of instruments, 
formed a hollow square in the place of St. 
Mark, and gave a magnificent serenade. To 
listen to those strains under the shadow of the 







VEGETABLE CURIOSITIES. 223 


church of St. Mark and the doge’s palace, j 
was alone sufficient to compensate a pilgrimage 
to that distant city. Reluctantly I tore my¬ 
self away from this enchanted ground, and 
hastened to the posta, where 1 arrived just in 
time. The mail-boat, which waits for no one, 
had received nearly all its passengers, and two 
minutes after I stepped on board we were in 
motion. 

Thus I parted from Venice. But there is, 
indeed, “ no farewell” to such scenes. Neither 
Florence, in the beautiful and classic vale of 
the Arno, nor smiling Naples, with its un¬ 
rivalled bay, nor Rome itself, with all its 
solemn grandeur, distinct and vivid as they 
are in recollection, has power at all to dimin¬ 
ish the charm which memory throws around 
that unique and most lovely city, whose moon- i 
light scenery still mingles with the most deli¬ 
cious of my waking dreams. — Rev. W. C. 
Dana. 


VEGETABLE CURIOSITIES. 

The vegetable kingdom has often supplied 
the natural theologist, with the most striking 
and forcible of his illustrations, in proof of 
the lavish goodness of the Creator. He has 
seen in its varied productions, the exhaustless 
skill of the All-creative hand; in the adapta¬ 
tion to the wants and necessities of man, his 
wisdom ; and in the gratifications they present 
to his eye, and to his taste, the clear evidence, 
that, while utility has been amply regarded, 
the enjoyment of the creature has been equally 
remembered, and abundantly provided for. 
With the most of the utilitarian products of 
this kingdom, we are sufficiently familiar; 
but with regard to its more exquisite gifts, we 
believe a good deal of ignorance to prevail, 
which it will be our endeavor, though imper¬ 
fectly, to dissipate. 

The Rev. Dr. Walsh, in a paper upon 
plants, growing in the neighborhood of Con¬ 
stantinople, contained in the “ Horticultural 
Transactions,” speaks in an interesting man¬ 
ner, of several of the gourd tribe, which 
grow luxuriantly in that district. One of the 
curious varieties was the cucurbita clavifor- 
misy or “Jonah’s gourd,” which is believed to 
be really that plant, which was caused to 
grow up over the head of the prophet in a 
single night. It forms a beautiful dense ar¬ 
bor, through which the rays of even the east¬ 
ern sun are unable to penetrate; under its 
shade the Easterns delight to smoke ; while 
overhead, the singular fruit of the plant 
hangs down in long, delicate, tempting clubs, 
somewhat like very stout candles. The fruit 


is not eaten in the uncooked state ; but the 
central part being scooped out, it is filled with 
forcemeat, and boiled, forming a very delicate 
and relishable repast. Another remarkable 
gourd is the “ Turk’s turban,” the cucurbita 
cxdanformis ; in form, it is like a large quince 
placed on the top of a large melon, thus bear¬ 
ing a pretty close resemblance to a turban. 
The history of its origin is curious, and more 
“ wonderful than true,” as we fear. A gourd 
was planted in Campania, near a quince, and 
an affection apparently springing up between 
the two, the gourd came to the conclusion of 
adopting the form of the quince, in addition to 
its own glossy rotundity, and the result was 
the form we have just noticed. It is used as 
an excellent addition to soups. Another spe¬ 
cies is the white, or cucurbita jpcpo ; this is 
found in the markets principally in the winter, 
and is commonly piled up in heaps, like can¬ 
non-balls, or more like pyramids of snow¬ 
balls. Romantic associations attach to this 
chaste production ; it is presented at every 
native marriage ceremony to the married pair, 
and is supposed to insure peace and prosperity 
to them and to their house. The momordica 
elaterium , a member of the same family, is 
otherwise known as the “ squirting cucumber,” 
from its possessing the strange property of 
squirting out its contents, on one of the ends 
being pulled or touched. It is a common 
piece of gardener’s wit, to request one to take 
hold of the dangerous end, and if we consent, 
the face and person are covered with the acrid 
slimy contents of this vegetable popgun. 
Where the plant grows in abundance, they 
may be heard popping off frequently ; and by 
simply walking near these irritable instru¬ 
ments, the passenger is often shot in the eyes 
with great force by them. Some of this tribe 
occasionally reach an enormous size, particu¬ 
larly the mammoth or American gourd. Among 
many examples, one is specially recorded as 
having attained the colossal weight of two 
hundred and forty-five pounds! a size truly 
monstrous. 

Among delicious fruits, the tree known as 
the “ tomberong,” produces small berries of a 
yellow color, and exquisite flavor. These are 
highly esteemed by the natives, who convert 
them into a beautiful sort of bread, which, 
curious to relate, in both color and flavor bear 
the closest resemblance to our finest ginger¬ 
bread. A tree belonging to the natural or¬ 
der Assocynaceee produces a fruit called the 
“cream-fruit,” which is estimated by some, 
as being the most exquisite fruit in the world. 
Two are always united together, and they de¬ 
pend from the extremity of a small branch. 
When wounded they yield a quantity of white 
juice resembling sugar or the best milk in its 
taste. For allaying the thirst incident to a 
















VEGETABLE CURIOSITIES. 


224 


tropical climate this fruit is invaluable ; and 
its delicious quality gives it an appropriate 
estimation in the eyes of the weary traveller 
in those regions. Of another curious fruit 
produced by one of the same tribe, Dr. Lind- 
ley writes : “ The sages of Ceylon, having 
demonstrated, as they say, that Paradise was 
in that island, and having therefore found it 
necessary to point out the forbidden fruit of 
the garden of Eden, assure us that it was 
borne on a species of this genus the Divi 
Ladner of their country. The proof they 
find of this discovery, consists in the beau¬ 
ty of the fruit, said to be tempting in the fra¬ 
grance of the flower, and in its still bearing 
the marks of the teeth of Eve. Till the offence 
was committed, which brought misery upon 
man, we are assured that the fruit was deli¬ 
cious ; but from that time forward it became 
poisonous, as it now remains.” The fruit of 
another tree, of the same species affords a 
capital substitute for red currant jelly, and 
one of the celebrated “cow-trees,” inhabitants 
of equatorial America, belongs to this natural 
order also. The delicious custard-apples of 
the East and West Indies are produced by 
the Anona reticulata. It is a small, weakly, 
branching tree, bearing fruit about the size of 
a tennis-ball, which is of a dull-brown color. 
The flesh is said to be of a yellowish color, 
soft and sweet, being about the consistence, 
and sharing even much of the flavor of a good 
custard. Another variety, is a small tree, 
which bears a fruit of a greenish yellow color, 
and is the size of an artichoke, called the 
“ sweet sop.” The skin is half an inch thick, 
and encloses an abundance of a thick, sweet, 
luxurious pulp, tasting like clouted cream, 
mixed with sugar. Rumphius says, that it 
has in some degree the smell and taste of rose¬ 
water, and is so delicious, that one scarcely 
ever tires of partaking of it. It has a com¬ 
plete contrast in the “ sour sop,” which be¬ 
longs to the same species, which is a fruit, of 
the size of a large pear, abounding in a milk- 
white pulp of a sweetish acid taste. Sir 
Hans Sloane, in the “Natural History of 
Jamaica,” particularly mentions the alligator, 
or avocado pear, the product of one of the 
lacerels ; the fruit is the size of a large pear, 
and possesses a rich delicate flavor, not unlike 
that of the peach ; but it is described as being 
even more grateful. Another curious fruit is 
that called the “ mammee ;” it is round and 
yellow, and when ripe, the rind peels of, dis¬ 
covering the eatable part, which has an acid- 
ulo-saccharine taste, and is of great fragrance. 
The tree by which it is borne reaches the size 
of the largest,of our oaks. 

Those who are admirers of marmalade (and 
we expect a vast number of our readers are 
guilty of that indiscretion) will learn with 


some surprise that nature presents the inhabi¬ 
tants of Surinam, with the article ready con¬ 
fected. The fruit is called the “marmalade 
box.” It is about the size of a large apple, and 
is covered with down. At first it is green, 
but when ripe it becomes brown, and then 
opens into halves like a walnut; the pulp is 
of a brownish color, very sweet and tempting, 
and is eaten by the natives with the greatest 
avidity. The Brazilians boast also of a deli¬ 
cious fruit, the murucuja, said to be unsur¬ 
passed in fragrance and flavor, possessing a 
pulp of a deep yellow, and exhaling a fine 
vinous odor. Yet it must yield to the far- 
famed mangustin of the Indian archipelago. 
This exquisite production is universally es¬ 
teemed, and is alike agreeable to strangers as 
to the inhabitants of its native country, whose 
pride it is. In shape and size it is like a mid¬ 
dling apple; it has a thick purplish rind, 
which surrounds three or four cloves of snow- 
white pulp, which almost immediately dis¬ 
solve. The flavor is extremely rich, yet nev¬ 
er luscious, nor palls on the taste; and the 
fruit may be eaten almost ad libitum. Dr. 
Lindley says that an intelligent traveller and 
his companions, were anxious to bring away 
with them, some precise expression of its fla¬ 
vor, but after satisfying themselves that it par¬ 
took of the compound taste of the pine-apple 
and the peach, they were obliged, after of 
course a series of tastings, to confess that it 
had many other equally delicious, but utterly 
inexpressible flavors. Not only is it grateful 
to the strong and hearty, but even to the sick, j 
who may eat it with impunity; and, as if to j 
swell the list of its good attributes, it is related 
that Dr. Solander was cured of putrid fever 
by eating it. A more singular, and at first a 
most uninviting fruit, is the “ durian it 
combines in a remarkable manner an odor the 
most disgusting and offensive—creating an al¬ 
most insuperable aversion to the fruit—with a 
very rich and delicate taste. The tree is de¬ 
scribed as being something like a pear-tree ; 
the fruit externally resembles that of the 
“ bread-fruit” tree, the outside being covered 
with tubercles. When ripe, it contains sev¬ 
eral cells, in each of which is a large seed of 
the size of a pigeon’s egg, imbedded in a rich 
pulp. The taste is very curious, and has been 
compared to a dish commonly known in Spain, 
under the name of “ mangiar blanf composed 
of hen’s flesh dressed in vinegar. The fruit 
really appears to partake more of an animal 
than vegetable nature, and never becomes 
sickly or cloying. The natives are passion- 
ately fond of it, and when it is to be procured, 
live almost wholly on its luxurious cream-like 
flesh. It is said soon to turn putrid. One 
durian is worth more than a dozen pine-apples. 

The rose-apples of the East, have long been 





















VEGETABLE CURIOSITIES. 


held in esteem, and take a high position among 
the elegant delicacies of nature. In all respects, 
this fruit is a lovely production; it is borne by 
a tree called the jambo; it is about as large 
as a pear; externally, it is arrayed in a coat 
of the most splendid red ; inside, its pulp is of 
the loveliest white ; and in perfume and taste 
it much resembles the rose. Some varieties 
of the rose-apple are so fine, as to be preserved 
for the king’s use alone : a beautiful variety, 
the jamrosade, is most highly perfumed with 
rose, while its color is a delicate transparent 
pink mixed with white. The well-known 
guava, is a fruit belonging to the natural order 
—the myrtleblooms. One of the chief deli¬ 
cacies of the Indian desert, is the fruit of the 
mango, the offspring of a considerable tree 
like a walnut. When fresh, it is of an ex¬ 
ceedingly delicate, sweet, and acidulous fla¬ 
vor, and forms pickles and preserves, which 
are highly esteemed. Some of its varieties 
are as large as an infant’s head, and exceed 
two pounds in weight. Sir William Jones, in 
the “Asiatic Researches,” mentions a very 
delicious fruit, known as the malura, which is 
curious in consequence of its possessing a fra¬ 
grance strongly resembling that of the wall¬ 
flower. 

The Chinese horticulture has long been 
famous for its productions, some of which are 
very anomalous. Marco Polo says, they have 
some pears of most gigantic sizes; pears are 
at all seasons in the Chinese markets, and 
some appear to have been fattened up to a de¬ 
gree of obesity that would do good to the 
eyes of an agricultural prize-breeder. What 
would be thought in England, of a pear 
weighing ten pounds, therefore, somewhat of 
the size of a Southdown leg of mutton ! Yet 
such this industrious traveller affirms as a fact, 
adding that they are white in color, melting, 
and most fragrant in taste. Other authors 
mention pears of approximate sizes, some 
measuring nearly sixteen inches in circumfer¬ 
ence the long way, and upward of a foot the 
round way. Their peaches, too, are equally 
fine; many of them are of the most beautiful 
colors and exquisite flavor, and some attain 
enormous sizes. The Chinese gardeners boast 
of having produced peaches weighing two 
pounds; and it is not for us to doubt their 
assertion, although we know somewhat of the 
elasticity of the Chinese conscience. They 
are also said to be possessed of the valuable 
secret of preserving fruit gathered in October 
until the succeeding January, in all its beauty, 
freshness, and flavor. Among other fruits, 
the “flat peach,” well deserves the title of a 
horticultural curiosity. It is in all respects 
like a peach, except that it is flattened out in¬ 
to a cake ; this fruit is well known at Canton ; 
its color is a pale yellow; when cut into, a 


225 


beautiful circle of pink is seen surrounding 
the stone, and radiating into a mass of deli¬ 
cately-colored pulp. In the indulgence of 
their dwarfing propensities, they manufacture 
for such it is, miniature fruit-trees of various 
kinds, by the method now become familiar to 
most persons. Large sums are set on the 
heads of those diminutive trees, in proportion 
to their ugliness and their abundance of fruit. 
Venerable old plum-trees, a foot high, laden 
with fruit, are without a price ; while finger- 
fruits, marygoes, peaches, carambolas, "and 
grapes, come in for subordinate attention. 
The beautiful orange, the “ mandarin,” (cit¬ 
rus nohilis) one of the recent importations into 
this country, is remarkable for having a deep 
crimson rind when ripe, which is quite detach¬ 
ed from the fruit. “ The whole,” writes Sir 
J. F. Davis, “ has a flattish aspect, and is 
sometimes four or five inches in diameter ; and 
the loose skin, when broken, opens like a puff¬ 
ball, disclosing the juicy lobes surrounded with 
a kind of network of fibres.” The celebra¬ 
ted finger-fruit comes very manifestly into our 
category, and is a curious result of an ingeni¬ 
ous horticulture. It is a peculiar kind of cit¬ 
rus, which by some means or other, is made 
to run entirely into rind, the whole terminating 
at the head in several long narrovr processes 
like fingers: it has hence been named, “ Fo 
show,” or the hand of Fo. Its odor is very 
powerful, but is considered as very fine. “So 
entirely, however, is this strange production 
the result of art, operating upon nature, that 
it does not appear a second time after the plant 
had been purchased.” The Chinese have also 
some curious oranges, known as the horned 
oranges, from the circumstance of a number 
of little horn-like processes projecting from its 
upper end. It may be mentioned in connexion 
with these plants, that the productiveness of 
the orange, is something quite enormous. A 
single tree at St. Michael’s has been known to 
produce 20,000 oranges fit for packing, exclu¬ 
sively of about one third more of damaged 
fruit.' Mr; Fortune supplies a curious account 
of the production of “vegetable tallow.” 
The seeds of the tallow-tree, after having 
hebn steamed and bruised, are heated over the 
fire“ the tallow is thus completely separated, 
but it looks like coarse linseed-meal; subject¬ 
ed to expression, it exudes in a semi-fluid 
state, and beautifidly white, soon hardening, 
and becoming solid. It is then made into 
cakes, and exposed for sale in the markets, for 
the manufacture of candles; but as these are 
apt to get soft, they are often dipped in wax 
of various colors, and sometimes are finely 
ornamented. But this is a subject with an 
unconquerable tendency to expansion : let us 
therefore, having gone thus far, take a hasty 
leave of it at once. 


15 












MEMOIR OF LOUIS PHILIPPE. 

The ex-king of the French was born in 
Paris, October 6th, 1773, and consequently is 
now in his 75th year. lie succeeded to the 
title of duke of Orleans in 1793, after the death 
of his father, Philippe Egalite, who, it is well 
known, suffered by the guillotine in the san¬ 
guinary days of the revolution. The Orleans 
branch of the Bourbon family, of which Louis 
Philippe is now the head, originated in Phil¬ 
ippe, a younger son of Louis XIII., created 
duke of Orleans by his elder brother, Louis 
XIV. The first duke of Orleans was twice 
married, his second wife being Elizabeth 
Charlotte, of Bohemia, grand-daughter of 
James I., of England; thus connecting the 
houses of Orleans and Stuart, from the latter 
of whom the queen of England, Victoria, is 
descended. 

For many years, Louis Philippe was exiled 
from France, travelling in various countries 
of Europe, and visiting the United States in 
his exile. While in Switzerland he engaged 
as a teacher in an academy for eight months, 
being then twenty years of age. It is a mis¬ 
take, however, that he ever taught school in 
the United States, as is generally supposed. 

He arrived in this country in November, 
1796, and was joined by his two brothers, the 
three spending some time with General Wash¬ 
ington, at Mount Vernon, by invitation, pre¬ 
vious to making a journey through the west¬ 
ern country. After a tour to the lakes and 
the falls of Niagara, the princes returned to 
Philadelphia, where they resided a few months. 
Having determined to join their mother in 
Spain, the princes determined to go thither by 
way of New Orleans and Havana. For that 
purpose they again crossed the mountains of 
Pittsburg, and descending the Ohio and Mis¬ 
sissippi river in a boat, arrived at New Orleans 
in February, 1798. Being refused a passage 
to Spain from Havana, whither they went 
from New Orleans, they sailed to New York, 
whence an English packet carried them to 
Falmouth, at which place they arrived in 
February, 1800. The princes then took up 
their residence on the banks of the Thames, 
at Twickenham. They received much atten¬ 
tion from the English nobility. They made 
a voyage to the island of Minorca, a passage 
being given them in a frigate by the British 
government; but finding no opportunity of 
passing thence to Spain, which was then in a 
convulsed state, they returned to England, 
and resided for some years at Twickenham. 
The duke of Orleans had the misfortune to 
lose both his brothers while in exile. The 
duke of Montpensier died in England, in 1807, 
and his remains were interred in Westminster 


abbey. The Count Beaujolais died at Mal¬ 
ta, whither his brother accompanied him in 
1808. 

From Malta, Louis Philippe went to Sicily, 
and accepted an invitation from Ferdinand, 
the king of Sicily, to visit the royal family at 
Palermo. During his residence there, he 
gained the affections of the Princess Amelia, 
the second daughter of the king, and the con¬ 
sent of Ferdinand and the duchess of Orleans, 
who had joined her son in Sicily, their mar¬ 
riage took place in November, 1809. By this 
lady, late queen of the French, Louis Philippe 
has had eight children, of whom six still sur¬ 
vive, viz.:— 

1. Louisa, queen of Belgium (wife of Leo¬ 
pold), born 1812. 

2. Louis, duke of Nemours, bom 1814, mar¬ 
ried Victoria Augusta, of Coburg, cousin of 
Prince Albert. 

3. Maria Clementina, born 1817, unmarried. 

4. Francis, Prince de Joinville, bom 1818, 
admiral of the French navy, married Francis- 
ca, a sister of the emperor of Brazil, and of 
the queen of Portugal. 

5. Henry, Duke d’Aumale, born 1822, 
married to Carolina, cousin of the king of the 
Two Sicilies. 

6. Anthony, duke of Montpensier, born 1824, 
married a sister of the queen of Spain. 

The oldest son of Louis Philippe was Fer¬ 
dinand, duke of Orleans, bom 1810, killed by 
jumping from his carriage, July, 1842. Fie 
married in 1837, Plelena, daughter of the 
grand-duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin—by 
whom he had two children, viz., Louis Phil¬ 
ippe (count of Paris) born 1838, and now ten 
years of age, and Robert Philippe, duke of 
Chartres, born 1840. 

At Palermo, Louis Philippe remained after 
his marriage, until 1814, when on the restora¬ 
tion of the Bourbons, he repaired to Paris, and 
was restored to his rank and honors. The 
return of Napoleon from Elba, in 1815, broke 
up his arrangements, and he sent his family 
to England, where he joined them, and again 
took up his residence at Twickenham. 

On the restoration of Louis XVIII., the 
duke returned to France, in September, 1815, 
and took his seat in the chamber of peers. 
The large estates to which he was entitled 
by inheritance being restored to him, he de¬ 
voted his attention principally to the education 
of his family. His opulence enabled him to 
become the protector of the fine arts, and the 
patron of letters, and few men in France were 
more popular during the career of the Bourbons. 
He was unexpectedly called from private life 
by the revolution of the three days in July, 
1830, when, on the abdication of Charles X., 
the chamber of deputies offered him the crown, 
which he accepted on the 9th of August, 













MEMOIR OF LOUIS PHILIPPE. 227 


1830, and adopted tlie style and title of Louis 
Philippe, king; of the French. 

The ex-king was a handsome man when 
young; his frame is now bulky, but there is 
much ease in his manners. He is ready in 
conversation, and was always remarkable affa¬ 
ble to all. 

Besides the young count of Paris, grandson 
to the ex-king, there are two other claimants 
to the French throne at this time, namely: 
first, the young duke of Bordeaux, son of the 
Duke de Berri, and grandson to the late king, 
Charles X., who was the elder branch of the 
Bourbon family, and brother of Louis XVI. 
and Louis XVIII. Charles X., it will be 
recollected, was deposed in 1830. 

Second, Louis Napoleon, son of the late 
Louis Bonaparte, who was for awhile king 
of Holland. The mother of this prince was 
Hortense, daughter of Josephine, first wife of 
the Emperor Napoleon. 

The claims of neither of these two princes 
seem to be worth much now; the only chance, 
if a republic be not permanently established, 
is probably for the young count of Paris, under 
the regency of his mother, the duchess of 
Orleans, who is now thirty-four years of age. 

In connexion with the preceding article we 
present our readers with some very interesting 
details respecting the flight of the ex-king and 
queen of the French, and their safe arrival and 
sojourn at Newhaven, England. The ac¬ 
companying engravings were made by artists 
on the spot, and may be depended upon for 
correctness. 

A farmer procured disguises for the royal 
party previously to leaving the chateau at 
Dreux, the king habiting himself in an old 
cloak and cap, having first shaved his whis¬ 
kers, discarded his wig, and altogether dis¬ 
guised himself so as to defy recognition. Long 
before daylight, they started on they way to 
La Ferte Vidame: taking the road of Evreux, 
twelve to fifteen leagues from Honfleur. They 
travelled chiefly by night, and reached Hon¬ 
fleur at five o’clock on Saturday morning. 
They remained at Honfleur, in the house of 
a gentleman whom the king knew, for a short 
time, and then crossed to Tronville, a short 
distance from the town. It was their inten¬ 
tion to embark at Tronville, hut owing to the 
boisterous state of the weather they were com¬ 
pelled to remain at the latter place two days, 
when finding they could not set sail, they re¬ 
turned to Honfleur, with the intention of em¬ 
barking at that place ; but the sea still con¬ 
tinued very rough, and the king fearing that 
the queen in her exhausted condition would be 
unable to bear the fatigue of a rough passage, 
deferred his departure till the weather changed 
on Thursday. In the meantime information 
was secretly conveyed to the express , South¬ 


ampton steam-packet, that they would be re¬ 
quired to take a party from Havre to England. 

On Thursday afternoon, the gentleman who 
sheltered the dethroned monarch and his con¬ 
sort at Honfleur, engaged a French fishing- 
boat to convey the party from Honfleur to 
Havre ; and, fearing that in his small vessel 
the features of the king might be recognised, 
the gentleman engaged an interpreter to inter¬ 
pret French to the king, who, to render his 
disguise more complete, passed as an English¬ 
man. Nothing of moment transpired on the 
passage to Havre where the exjircss was wait¬ 
ing with her steam up; and at nine o’clock on 
Thursday evening, the royal fugitives and 
suite set sail for England. 

A little before seven on Friday morning, 
the express steamer arrived oft' Newhaven 
harbor. Here she lay to, and her command¬ 
er, Captain Paul, pulled off for shore in a 
boat with General Dumas, who proceeded to 
the bridge inn, to bespeak accommodation for 
the voyagers. Having made due arrange¬ 
ments, he started for London, leaving the 
hostess in perfect ignorance as to the rank of 
her expected guests. The captain returned 
to his ship shortly after. About eleven o’clock 
a boat pulled up to the shore, containing an 
elderly gentleman attired in an old green 
blouse and travelling-cap, and a rough great 
coat; a lady of similar age, plainly dressed in 
a black bonnet, and checked black and white 
cloak, attended by a young female; and three 
other persons. 

The royal party having landed, were con¬ 
ducted by Mr. Sims the distance of two hun¬ 
dred yards, where a fly was in waiting, into 
which the king and queen, with the female 
attendant, had stepped, and were about to 
proceed, when Mr. Sims involuntarily betray¬ 
ed his recognition, and exclaimed “Welcome 
to England, King Louis Philippe! welcome, 
welcome!” 

The party were then conducted by Mr. 
Sims to the Bridge Inn, where every prepara¬ 
tion had been made by Mrs. Smith to secure 
the comfort of her anticipated but unknown 
guests. The truth, however, was immediate¬ 
ly disclosed; and the worthy hostess, her 
daughter and assistants, comfirmed the wel¬ 
come which had already been pronounced, 
and conducted the royal exiles up-stairs. On 
reaching their apartment, the emotions of the 
worn-out and harassed travellers overpowered 
them, and found vent in a flood of tears. 

The accommodations of the Bridge Inn are 
not so limited as has been stated. The royal 
party, which consisted of seven persons, oc¬ 
cupied two sitting and six bed-rooms, inde¬ 
pendent of a large room sixty feet in length 
which was appropriated to the attendants. 
The sitting-room occupied by their majesties is 










22S 


MEMOIR OF LOUIS PHILIPPE. 



about twenty feet long by fifteen wide, having 
a large bow window, affording additional space. 

The news of the royal arrival soon spread 
among the inhabitants. Immediately on re¬ 
ceiving the intelligence, Mr. Catt, of Bishop- 
stone (who had the honor of an introduction 
to Louis Philippe at the Chateau d’Eu some 
two years ago), repaired to the Bridge Inn. 
The king at once recognised Mr. Catt, and 
received his congratulations on his escape with 
much emotion, shaking hands with him with 
great empressement, and expressing the most 
undisguised pleasure at meeting with him. 
In the course of conversation the ex-king ex- 
claimed, “Ah, Mr. Catt, we have had a fear¬ 
ful time of it. We have been eight days in 
flight, and have been, it may be said, within 
two hours of being murdered. But, thank 
God, here we are safe on your hospitable 
shores.” He also added, “It is not the first 
time, Mr. Catt, that I have experienced the 
generous hospitality of England. I am always 
proud to come to England.” On Mr. Catt 
proffering the use of his house, Louis Philippe 
declined the offer, expressing his thanks, but 
observing, “ The good people of the inn have 
done everything to render us comfortable, and 
we shall do extremely well.” Mr. Elphick 
and Mr. Cole had, in a like spirit, both volun¬ 
teered to place their residences at the disposal 
of the king and suite. 

The royal party comprised, in addition to 
the king and queen, a female German attend¬ 


ant on her majesty, a confidential valet, a pri¬ 
vate secretary (M. Pauline, qfficier d'ordon- 
nancc ), and two other gentlemen. Consider¬ 
able secrecy was at first observed as to the 
names and rank of the retinue, who, however, 
have since proved to be Generals Dumas and 
Rumigny, M. Thuret, the king’s private valet, 
and Mdle. Muser, attendant on the queen. 

We omitted to state that in the interview 
with Mr. Catt, his majesty inquired for Mr. 
Packham, and finding that he was at Brighton, 
expressed his joy that he was safe in England, 
and his wish that he should be sent for, which 
was accordingly complied with. 

One of the first steps taken by Louis Phili ppe 
after his arrival at the inn was to write a letter 
to her majesty Queen Victoria, which he in¬ 
trusted to Mr. Irons (the active secretary of 
the Brighton railway and continental steam- 
packet company), who had waited on him, 
and offered, on behalf of the company, every 
facility of transit. Mr. Irons immediately 
started on his mission: leaving directions in 
passing through Lewes, that a special train 
should be sent down to Newhaven, to be 
placed at the disposal of the royal exiles. 

In the course of the morning, several of the 
inhabitants at Newhaven paid their respects 
to his majesty, and offered their services in 
various ways. On Mr. Packham’s arrival, he 
was charged to proceed to Brighton, in order 
there to repair the deficiencies of the royal 
wardrobe ; “for,” said the ex-monarch pithily 
















































































































Louis Philippe landing at Newhaven (England). 



















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































MEMOIR OF LOUIS PHILIPPE. 


230 


to Mr. Packliam, “ we are very short of 
clothes.” The king also handed over to him 
several bags of silver coin, for the purpose of 
getting it changed into English money. 

In the course of the afternoon the editor of 
the Sussex Advertiser was honored with a 
private interview with Louis Philippe and 
his august consort. “We found,” says the 
editor, in his journal of Tuesday, “ Louis 
Philippe dressed plainly in black, without his 
wig, and looking cheerful and refreshed. The 
queen, however (who was sitting at a side 
table), appeared much worn and fatigued. 
The ex-king intimated his wish that the names 
of his attendants should not transpire, observ¬ 
ing how desirous he was not to compromise 
in the eyes of their countrymen those faithful 
friends who had exposed themselves to danger 
for his sake in the hour of peril and need. In 
this feeling the queen shared. 

“ In alluding to recent events, his majesty 
pointedly disclaimed any feelings of animosity 
or resentment against those who had helped 
to hurl him from the lofty position he had 
lately occupied. His observations on this 
point were made with a calm and dignified 
composure of voice and manner, which certain¬ 
ly gave the strongest impress of sincerity and 
truth. Without attempting to exculpate either 
one party or the other, it may be truly said 
that, had a far different tone pervaded the ob¬ 
servations of the dethroned monarch, the mo¬ 
ment and the occasion might well have been 
pleaded in excuse. During this most interest¬ 
ing interview, there were no other persons 
present save General Rumigny. It was an 
interview not easily to be forgotten.” 

During the afternoon, several gentlemen had 
the honor of an interview; among others, G. 
Molineux, Esq., and the Rev. Dr. Cary, of 
Lewes. On learning the name of the former, 
the ex-king, after replying to that gentleman’s 
congratulations on his safe arrival, observed 
that “he well remembered that name of Mr. 
Molineux, when at Lewes many years ago.” 

Soon after this, a special train arrived at 
Newhaven, conveying the Hon. Captain 
Hotham (one of the directors), who immedi¬ 
ately had an interview with Louis Philippe, 
and despatched for town a letter Queen Amelia 
had written to Queen Victoria. The royal 
party then resolved not to quit Newhaven 
until next day. 

Toward eight o’clock, General Dumas ar¬ 
rived at the inn from the town, accompanied 
by Count de Jarnac, of the French embassy, 
who had an interview with the king. At a 
later hour, Mr. Irons returned from London, 
having delivered his despatch to Prince Albert, 
and being charged with a private message from 
her majesty, through Prince Albert, for the 
exiled monarch. 


On Saturday morning, before eight o’clock, 
several ladies and gentleman had arrived, 
anxious to pay their respects to the royal 
party. Among these were Mr. Lawrence and 
Lady Jane Peel, and the Rev. T. Cooke, 
with Miss Augusta Otway, who came from 
Brighton; and the Rev. Mr. Brookman and 
his lady, of Rottingdean. Count Duchatel, 
minister of the interior, who also arrived from 
the Bedford hotel, Brighton, had an audience 
of his royal master. Large parties likewise 
arrived from Brighton and Lewes; and an 
address from the latter place was presented by 
a deputation, headed by Edward Blaker, Esq. 
Toward ten o’clock, a number of ladies had 
assembled in the larve room of the inn, whither 
the king proceeded to pay his respects. The 
royal party then prepared to take their de¬ 
parture, but their progress down stairs was 
intercepted at every step by fresh comers. 
In the passage were stationed the scholars of 
the Lewes free grammar-school, on whose 
behalf the Rev. Dr. Cary (principal) presented 
two addresses, one in Latin and the other in 
French, bearing the signatures of the pupils. 
His majesty received these marks of youthful 
attachment and sympathy most graciously, 
and having placed himself in front of his young 
auditors, addressed a few sentences to them 
expressive of his appreciation of the feeling 
which had prompted them to approach him, 
and assuring them he would read and retain 
the addresses they had presented to him in his 
misfortunes. This concluded, the signal for 
departure was given, and the king, assisted 
by the Count de Jarnac, and her majesty, con¬ 
ducted by the honorable Captain Hotham, and 
followed by Generals Dumas, and Rumigny, 
M. Pauline, M. Thuret, and Mdle. Muser, 
descended the stairs as quickly as the crowd 
permitted. Just before leaving, the king em¬ 
phatically conveyed his thanks to Mrs. Smith, 
the landlady; and the queen, who had been 
attended by Miss Skinner and Miss F. Stone, 
of Newhaven, embraced them, thanking them 
for their attention; the king shaking hands 
with them, and adding his earnest thanks. 

The royal party then proceeded to the rail¬ 
way station, and at eleven the train took its 
departure. At quarter past twelve the train 
reached the Croydon station, where they 
were joined by the duke and duchess of Ne¬ 
mours, and thence the royal party proceeded by 
carriage to Claremont, where they at present 
remain. 

The town of Newhaven lies on the Sussex 
coast, seven miles south from Lewes, four 
miles west of Seaford, and nine east from 
Brighton. It has a good tidal harbor (the 
Ouse), capable of great improvement, having 
considerable natural advantages, and situate 
midway between Portsmouth and Dover. 













Louis Philippe and Party at Breakfast at the Bridge Inn, Newhaven. 
















































































































































































































































































































































































































232 LECTURES OX ASTRONOMY. 


LECTURES OK ASTRONOMY.—N°. 5. 

BY PROFESSOR O. M. MITCHELL. 

If it were possible for me to transport you 
to the distance of ninety millions of miles in 
a direction passing through the sun’s an¬ 
nual track, and could there locate you, your 
sight would in a short time be greeted with 
a most wonderful and sublime exhibition. 
You would see approaching you a magnificent 
world, rapidly whirling upon its own axis. 
Around this vast central orb you would find a 
number of beautiful rings of light: these, too, 
would be seen to be whirling around with sur¬ 
prising velocity. On the outside of this again 
you would mark, as the object approached 
nearer and nearer, no less than seven sub¬ 
ordinate worlds sweeping around the great 
central orb and with it rolling through space. 
This is the planet Saturn with its rings and 
moons; and it is to this object I propose, pri¬ 
marily, to call your attention. It is the most 
distant of all the old planets known to the an¬ 
cients, its period is the longest, and its move¬ 
ment the slowest and most majestic. Up to 
the time of the discovery of the telescope, the 
wonderful characteristics which mark this ob- 
lect were unknown, but when Galileo direct¬ 
ed his space-annihilating tube to its investiga¬ 
tion he announced to the world that he found 
Saturn to be triple—that there were what he 
conceived to be two globes attached to the 
main body, one on the right and the other on 
the left. But these were only the projections 
of those mighty rings standing oblique to the 
line of vision, and seen imperfectly through 
his glass which magnified but twenty or thirty 
times. They appeared to him to be projec¬ 
tions or globes attached to opposite sides of 
the main body of the planet. As the telescope 
was improved, these projections had their true 
character revealed, and it was seen that a flat 
annulus, or ring, passed entirely around the 
globe of the planet and was separated by a 
certain amount of distance. As the power of 
the telescope was increased, and more minute 
investigations were made, it was found that 
the broad ring was divided into two rings; 
and in modern times, within the last few years, 
by the aid of the mighty telescopes now en¬ 
gaged in astronomical investigations, it has 
been ascertained that the outer of these rings 
is again divided, and there are no less than 
three which encircle the planet. The satel¬ 
lites were not discovered till long after the 
time of Galileo. In the year 1655, we learn, 
one of them was seen; and shortly after four 
more were announced. Then Sir William 
Herschel, with his forty-foot reflector, detects 
the two minute bodies that seem to cling close¬ 
ly to the edge of the ring and are scarcely ever 


visible in consequence of the intense light 
thrown out by the planet. Here, then, we 
have three rings and seven satellites, or moons, 
which belong to this most wonderful sphere : 
and remember that all these are sweeping 
with the planet through space, and as it wheels 
its circle about the sun, they move regularly 
with it, obedient entirely to its control. But 
what are these mighty rings ? The exterior 
diameter of the outer one is no less than 
177,800 miles, their breadth, measured entire¬ 
ly across both rings, is 30,000 miles, and their 
thickness is one hundred miles. How strange¬ 
ly are they constituted ! how wonderfully are 
they poised in space! We can understand 
the original movement of all the planets with 
the exception of Saturn ; we can form some 
idea how this earth, which we know to be 
globular, might have been projected by the 
hand of Omnipotence, and caused to revolve 
in its orbit about the sun ; but how was it 
that these stupendous rings were hurled in 
such a manner as to acquire that stability of 
movement which holds them steady to the 
action of the central planet, and at the same 
time rolls them onward through space with 
the immense velocity with which the}'' move ? 
This portion of our system baffles all conjec¬ 
ture : it rises entirely above the comprehen¬ 
sion of the human mind. While we make 
some rough approximation to the notion as to 
how the other planets might have been launch¬ 
ed in space, we can form no conception of the 
manner in which this one was started in its 
career. 

But what are these mighty rings ? Are 
they merely a mass of light ? Are they pro¬ 
jections of the atmosphere belonging to the 
planet ? Are they portions flung out by the 
centrifugal force, and thus in some sense held 
steady in their position? — Are they solid 
bodies ? I answer; they are solid bodies, 
and of the same material that composes the 
body of the planet. 

But how do we know this? In the first 
place, we know them to be solid because, as 
the planet with its rings passes between us 
and distant groups of stars, such stars are first 
occulted by these rings. In the next place, 
they are not transparent in any degree, because 
of the fact that at the distance of nine hundred 
millions of miles we are able to mark the space 
of the shadows cast by these rings on the body 
of the planet. Night after night, month after 
month, and now almost year after year, have 
I watched with my own eyes the phases of 
these wonderful shadows. They are deep 
and dark, much blacker than any shadow you 
find cast upon the surface of the earth. 

But again, they are able to exhibit the same 
characteristics themselves, and in certain posi¬ 
tions we find the light of the sun falling upon 









LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 233 


the body of the planet, which casts a shadow 
upon the broad surface of these rings; and 
though we have the same blackness as before* 
here is the distinct shadow cast by the planet 
upon the ring. Now, as we watch them at¬ 
tentively, we find invariably that these shad¬ 
ows depend upon the position of the sun and 
certain positions of the planet and rings. Just 
as the shadows which are cast upon the sur¬ 
face of the earth depend upon the position of 
the source of light, so do these; and they 
follow with the same precision and accuracy the 
movement of the source of light that shadows 
do upon the earth, and hence we can not be 
deceived. 

The space by which the interior ring is 
separated from the body of the planet is no 
less than twenty thousand miles, and the 
breadth of the ring is about ten thousand miles 
before we reach that space which separates 
it from the next ring, and so onward till we 
pass the outer one, of which I have just 
spoken. 

Now how is it that these rings are held 
stable ? How is it that they, detached from 
the body of the planet, are carried with that 
planet through space ? The stability of the 
rings of Saturn is perhaps one of the most 
difficult and perplexing problems for the as¬ 
tronomer, and I would do injustice to the sub¬ 
ject were I to pass over it without attempting 
to give some notion of this singular problem. 
And before I begin, permit me to explain the 
fact that there are three different kinds of 
equilibrium—for in the understanding of this 
will be involved the understanding of the ex¬ 
planation which I am about to make. I will 
attempt to exhibit these three different kinds 
of equilibrium by the simplest possible ex¬ 
planation. If I were to suspend a rod from 
the top, and cause it to vibrate as a pendulum, 
it would finally stop of itself. Here is an 
equilibrium of stability. Why ? Because if 
I m«ve it ever so little to the right or left it 
will come back to its original position. Now 
if I take the same rod and balance it horizon¬ 
tally across my finger, it being equal in mag¬ 
nitude and density throughout, I have an 
equilibrium of inertia, because if I move it 
slightly it will not return, but remain wherev¬ 
er 1 place it. Now there is a third kind, ex¬ 
emplified by taking the same rod and poising 
it upon my finger: so long as I can hold the 
centre of gravity above the point of support, 
1 hold it steady; but the slightest inclination 
to either side destroys the stability. This is 
an equilibrium of instability, in consecjuence 
of the fact that every deviation tends to in¬ 
crease itself, and therefore destroy the equi¬ 
librium entirely. 

Having explained the three kinds of equi¬ 
librium, let us now, if you please, pass to the 


'examination of the system of rings of Saturn. 
It is found by close investigation that in case 
these rings are precisely circular, in case they 
are equal in density throughout, in case their 
centre of gravity is their centre of figure, and 
in case we add to this the fact that this centre 
shall coincide with the centre of the planet, 
about which they are placed, then the equi¬ 
librium is one of instability, and with the 
slightest cause that comes in to derange the 
system such derangement will go on increasing 
itself, and the centre of gravity of the ring 
will commence moving in a spiral line about 
the central planet, the ring approaching closer 
and closer to that body till finally it is pre¬ 
cipitated upon the planet and the whole struc¬ 
ture is destroyed. On our examination of the 
ring we find it to be circular, and in the early 
examination it was believed that the centre 
of gravity was coincident with the centre of 
the figure of the ring, and moreover, that the 
centre of gravity of the figure coincided with 
the centre of the planet. This being supposed 
to be the fact, it seemed impossible that this 
system should be perpetual, in case there waa 
found in the satellites which rev-olve upon the 
exterior a disturbing influence sufficient to 
draw this centre slightly away, and thus begin 
that very kind of motion which must end in 
final destruction. It was not till after La¬ 
place gave his mighty intellect to the solution 
of this problem that the truth was discovered. 
He found that the stability could- not be 
guarantied in any other way than by making 
the ring unequally thick in different parts, or 
at least of a different specific gravity. This 
was not all: it was necessary to move the 
centre of gravity from the centre of gravity 
of the planet, and cause it to revolve about 
that centre in a minute orbit. Yet, however 
strange this might appear, it seemed as if 
Saturn was too remote for the telescope ever 
to verify the principle of this extraordinary 
statement. But it happens, fortunately for 
us, that in the position which we occupy in 
the system, these rings which are so very 
thin, are occupying a position .such that the 
eye is situated in the plane of the ring and we 
see them edgewise ; and when we view them 
in the first place they exhibit the appearance 
of a line of light drawn across the diameter 
of the plane passing through this centre. Now 
in the disappearance of the ring by its taking 
up this position, we are enabled to examine 
with the utmost possible accuracy, and it has 
been found that the two extremities do not 
disappear at the same time, and that there 
are inequalities upon their surface which are 
well marked and defined—the very thing pre¬ 
cisely that Laplace predicted would be the 
case, provided an instrument should be.found 
of sufficient power to discover them to the eye. 






-. -- — -- - -:------ 

234 LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 


But this was not all: the most delicate 
micrometrical apparatuses were constructed, 
and with these—which were capable of meas¬ 
uring the most minute distances—the spaces 
between the planet and the ring, upon the right 
and left, were determined ; and it was discov¬ 
ered that these spaces were unequal, not only 
unequal but variable, and not only variable 
but changing according to a certain law. Thus 
it was shown conclusively and absolutely that 
the centre of the planet did not occupy the 
centre of the ring, thus bringing in the other j 
condition requisite for stability, and fastening 
the whole system permanently in space. 

Now how could these rings have been 
formed ? Is it possible that they were attach¬ 
ed to the planet after it commenced its journey 
in space ? It seems impossible for us to con¬ 
ceive how this might be accomplished; hence 
some philosophers have adopted the idea that 
they were formed at the same time with the 
planet, and by the action of the same law; 
and in all probability the celebrated nebular 
theory of the formation of the universe derived 
more support from the exhibition of Saturn’s 
system, than from all other causes combined. 
It was supposed that in the beginning of all 
things, the matter which now forms the sun 
and planets and satellites, was diffused through¬ 
out all space, or if not throughout all space 
at least to a vast distance from the place which 
the sun now occupies; and that this incohate 
matter was divided and its particles held 
asunder by the repulsive power belonging to 
it. Laplace conceives that in process of 
time—under the action of gravity—the mass 
of particles commence a movement toward a 
centre, and in coming from positions diametri¬ 
cally opposite they pass each other, and thus 
a rotation is commenced about an axis. When 
millions of years shall have rolled away, and 
when this mighty sea of crude matter shall have 
been slowly impregnated with gravity and 
consequently with motion, it will contract, and 
as it contracts its velocity of rotation must in¬ 
crease, till finally the centrifugal force gen¬ 
erated at the equator of the revolving mass 
overcomes the force of gravity, and a flat por¬ 
tion is detached from it in the form of a ring. 
When this has been once loosened and de¬ 
tached, after millions of years shall have roll¬ 
ed round, we find the central mass contracting 
and leaving this ring in space; revolving with 
the velocity due to the revolving mass at the 
time it was detached. Now then, in the pro¬ 
cess of the formation of the planet, this ring 
may by possibility break up and coalesce into 
one mass. The same cause which operated 
in the outset to detach the ring from the mass, 
will in the second instance detach from its 
equator other masses which may form satel¬ 
lites ; or these by possibility may even remain [ 

[ ' ■■ ■ - 


and become solid in the form in which they 
were first thrown off. If we admit this won¬ 
derful and strange theory we can understand 
how it was that the mysterious system of 
Saturn existed, and how the conditions of 
stability were such as they now are, and how 
it is that this body moves on, century after 
century, without any change—with the sta¬ 
bility which fastens every part of it for ever 
permanent. 

I do not pretend that this is the manner in 
I which this system was formed ; I do not know 
—I can not fathom—any such mysterious 
problem; but one thing, however, I do know, 
and that is this: that if by the application of 
the higher powers of analysis this most extra¬ 
ordinary theory is demonstrated to be true, it 
carries the mind higher and nearer to the great 
source of all things than any other which the 
human intellect has ever devised. It gives a 
more comprehensive idea of the omniscience 
and omnipotence of God than any other theo¬ 
ry of which I have any conception : for here, 
with matter in a chaotic form and scattered 
throughout all space, having been brought into 
existence by the fiat of his will, by the action 
of one solitary law the universe—as boundless 
as himself—is upheld and sustained forever ! 

We pass on from the examination of this 
subject to another. If in the planet Saturn it 
seems as if the analogy by which the system 
is governed has been broken, we shall find in 
the next planet which revolves upon the ex¬ 
terior of this, a still more strange anomaly. 
For a long time there were certain difficulties 
with regard to the movements of Saturn, which 
seemed to perplex philosophers: it was get¬ 
ting out of its computed place, and the most 
extraordinary difference was seen in the move¬ 
ments of Jupiter when compared with those 
of Saturn. It was found that during the 
whole of the seventeenth century one of these 
planets was perpetually getting behind its 
computed place, while the other was getting 
in advance. It seemed that the two were 
moving in some way in which one was de¬ 
pendent upon the other, and it was next to 
impossible to discover how it was to be made 
out. Finally the problem was taken up by 
Laplace, and solved ; and the explanation is 
perhaps as curious as any which has ever been 
presented for the examination of the human 
mind. Who would suppose that the stability 
of our system depends in any degree upon the 
relation existing between the periodic time of 
the planets ? Yet this is the fact. 

We find that in case the periodic times of 
any two planets should happen to be in such 
a relation to each other, that one of them taken 
a certain number of times should be equal to 
the other taken a certain number of times 
different from the first, then irregularities 












LECTURES ON 


would be introduced in the system, which 
would go on always increasing in the same 
direction and the equilibrium would be that 
of instability. Now it happens in the periodic 
times of Jupiter and Saturn there is a close 
proximity to such a relation—five periods of 
Jupiter being about sixty years, and two pe¬ 
riods of Saturn about the same time. Now 
suppose to-night Jupiter and Saturn occupy 
a given position with reference to the sun, and 
they start out on their career: at the end of 
sixty years they will come round again to oc¬ 
cupy almost exactly the same relative position; 
and whatever effect Jupiter may have had to 
hasten the movement of Saturn, or Saturn to 
retard that of Jupiter, will again be repeated 
in the same way and in the same position, 
without the possibility of restoration, except 
with a difference of configuration on the oppo¬ 
site side. Strange as it may appear, this partic¬ 
ular case comes very nearly, though not quite 
exactly, to that of these planets: they do not 
reach the same position by an amount equal 
to something like six or seven out of the 360 
degrees: here they are a little behind at the 
succeeding year—at the next still further—at 
the next they have changed yet again, till 
now after about 2,500 years they come to 
occupy the first position in all the successive 
rounds of their orbits ; and not till they have 
gone entirely around will the compensation be 
effected and the system be restored to its ori- 
ginal condition. Such is what is called the 
long equation of Jupiter and Saturn. 

I do not mean to say the period is 2,500 
years; because in consequence of the fact 
that they come to resume the same relative 
places in different parts of their orbits the same 
will be effected in a shorter time : and indeed 
in consequence of this difference of configura¬ 
tion in different parts of their orbits it is ac¬ 
complished in nine hundred years. 

It appears then, that this particular case 
which seemed to set the law of gravitation at 
defiance, is reduced absolutely within the con¬ 
trol of the law, and a most beautiful explana¬ 
tion of the phenomena is presented. 

When these difficulties had been removed, 
a more rigid scrutiny seemed to reveal others 
in Saturn, till finally, after having exhausted 
all the means within the limits of the solar 
system to account for them, some mind ven¬ 
tured to pass the limits that had hitherto 
circumscribed it, and say, “ There must be a 
planet upon the outside.” But no one dared 
at that time to undertake the resolution of the 
vast problem, by whose solution the position 
of the unknown body could be determined. 
Fortunately for the world, in 1781 Sir William 
Herschel in one of his telescopic explorations 
found an object which attracted his attention : 
in short, he saw in it something which resem¬ 


ASTRONOMY. 


235 


bled a planetary disk. On the following night 
the examination showed that body to have 
changed its place ; yet so little did he expect 
to find another planet, that he announced he 
had found a comet and commenced to compute 
its orbit; but found no elongated orbit would 
suit; the place which had been given to it and 
that nothing but the circular, or nearly so, 
would fulfil its conditions. It was found to 
be a planet revolving outside of Saturn, at a 
distance of eighteen hundred millions of miles 
from the sun. This (first called Georgium 
Sidus in honor of King George III.) is known 
by the name of Herschel—more generally 
called Uranus. 

In the course of five or six years, Herschel 
announced he had found six satellites revolving 
about the body; but what astonishment every 
one, was the announcement that these satel¬ 
lites, instead of following the analogy of the 
other known planets by revolving in the same 
direction in which the planets moved, were 
actually moving backward in their orbits, and 
nearly perpendicular to the plane of the eclip¬ 
tic. Here was a difficulty in the great sys¬ 
tem of the universe called “ Laplace’s theo¬ 
ry,” which I have already announced. If 
this system was formed as he supposed, how 
is it possible to account for the retrograde mo¬ 
tion of these satellites, and for the fact that 
their planes are nearly perpendicular to the 
plane of the ecliptic? Perhaps it is impossi¬ 
ble to account for it; but if we will admit 
that such a thing may occur as the impinging 
of a comet upon any body in our system, it 
would not be impossible to account for those 
retrograde movements, nor for this great in¬ 
clination, by supposing at the time this was a 
iluid mass, the movement may have changed 
its rotation upon its axis, and have caused the 
satellites to take the position they now occu¬ 
py. I do not present this for any one to re¬ 
ceive as a true hypothesis; it only shows that 
those who adhere to a particular theory will 
find ways and means of explaining difficulties 
which others never would think of. Neither 
do I wish to be understand as having adopted 
Laplace’s theory; very far from it. It re¬ 
mains to be demonstrated yet, and it is possi¬ 
ble the means may yet be attained whereby, 
by the power of analysis, we may bring out 
the truth or falsehood of this most stupendous 
theory. We are obliged, therefore, to accept 
the statement of Herschel for the present, al¬ 
though, so far as I know, up to the present 
time no eye has ever seen more than three 
out of the six satellites which he tells us re¬ 
volve about this planet. 

When this planet had been watched a suffi¬ 
cient number of years, and the observations 
had been made by means of which its orbit 
could be computed with accuracy, and the 


L 










236 LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 


place which it had occupied years and years 
before its discovery, on running hack through 
the catalogues of stars which had been formed 
by preceding astronomers, it was found that 
this body had been seen a number of times 
and had had its place fixed in the heavens, 
being regarded as a fixed star. These early 
observations were of infinite value in deter¬ 
mining a more accurate orbit of this planet, so 
that long before the elements of this orbit were 
known it was possible to predict its position 
in all coming time. But when these predic¬ 
tions were made, and when observation and 
theory were compared, it was found that the 
planet was deviating from its computed place 
—it was found that no analysis could confine 
it: it has broken away from its computed 
orbit, and at the distance of eighteen hundred 
millions of miles from the centre this body 
seemed to be moving lawlessly through the 
heavens. 

In order to resolve this great problem, it 
would be necessary to go into a minute inves¬ 
tigation of all the observations that had been 
made ; to go back from the planet through the 
whole solar system to the sun itself, and to 
ascertain with the most perfect precision what 
influence was exerted by all the known bodies 
upon this one. If, after every possible influ¬ 
ence had beer? admitted, accounted for and 
applied, there were yet outstanding inequalities 
remaining unaccounted for, it certainly became 
necessary to look for their cause beyond the 
limits of the known solar system. This was 
the problem taken up by Leverrier, and to 
which I will now call your attention. 

Perhaps there is no person living in the 
world who occupies so unfortunate a position 
as the individual just named. This may 
sound strangely in your ears. The difficulty 
is this: that he has accomplished the resolu¬ 
tion of one of the most sublime problems ever 
attacked by the human mind—literally and 
truly accomplished it—and yet that problem 
turns out not to be the problem of nature, or 
one that God had given to be resolved! I 
know how difficult a task it will be to explain 
this, and it is this particular difficulty which 
constitutes the truth of what I have stated, 
that his position is one least to be envied; for 
he probably never will receive the credit due 
to him, in consequence of the fact that the 
planet so recently found is not the planet of 
his analysis. 

But now for the examination of this matter. 
Leverrier is a comparatively young man, and 
had shown the power of his genius by a rigid 
examination of the conditions involved in the 
movements of the planet Mercury. He had 
taken up the old tables which seemed to gov¬ 
ern the movements of this planet, and had 
corrected them from beginning to end. It 


was believed that the knowledge which we al¬ 
ready had of the movements of this body was 
sufficiently correct for all practical purposes. 
The transit of that planet across the sun, 
which occurred not long since, gave the oppor¬ 
tunity of testing the accuracy of his own in¬ 
vestigations, in the most perfect manner; and 
when the results came in from every quarter 
of the world, and were concentrated at Paris, 
and presented for examination, it was found 
that he had predicted the instant at which the 
planet should touch the disk of the sun more 
accurately than any other person who had at¬ 
tempted it; and indeed he only failed by the 
amount of sixteen seconds of time. 

His great success in this particular induced 
his friend Arago to request him to attempt the 
resolution of the problem of the perturbations 
of Uranus. He commences, not to skim su¬ 
perficially over the surface—taking for granted 
what had already been done—but goes back 
to the first observation recorded, and traces 
each and every one down the stream of time, 
sifting out everything which belongs to each 
one of them. Not satisfied with this, he com¬ 
mences a review of all the planets that can 
operate upon its motion, makes a new r theory 
for Saturn, and for Jupiter, takes into consid¬ 
eration even the change of position occasioned 
by the action of Jupiter upon Saturn itself, 
and the minute subsequent changes in the ac¬ 
tion of Saturn upon the planet nine hundred 
millions of miles distant from it. All these 
things are gone through, and with the hand 
of a master he holds the problem steadily be¬ 
fore his gaze, and seizes every point with per- . 
feet certainty. At length he has accounted 
for the perturbation due to the action of any 
known body in the solar system, and there is 
a certain amount yet outstanding. And now 
the grand object is to pass upon the true ele¬ 
ments and see -whether it be possible so to 
locate a planet in space that it may account 
for this outstanding perturbation, and whether 
by giving to it this position it be possible to 
find it. How did he attempt this ? To most 
persons it would seem utterly beyond the grasp 
of the human intellect. But let us consider. 

In the first place: Bode’s law of distances 
told him about where it would be located in 
space. As Saturn was about twice as far 
from the sun as Jupiter, and Uranus twice as 
far as Saturn, he had a right to conclude that 
possibly the unknown body would be located 
at twice the distance from the sun of Uranus, 
or three thousand six hundred millions of miles. 
Having obtained, the distance, Kepler’s law 
gave him the periodic time, and the velocity 
became proximately known. But now the 
great point was to get one particular position, 
and if that could be obtained he could follow 
its progress and tell where it would be at the 














LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 237 


end of any given time. To accomplish this 
he commenced an examination of the derange¬ 
ment in the planet Uranus. He found that 
in certain parts of its orbit it is going further 
and further away from the sun. Its radius, 
or direct line to the sun was elongating. This 
he thought was no doubt occasioned by the ac¬ 
tion of a planet. Let us locate the two planets 
in imagination. Suppose they are on the same 
side of the sun. Then the space by which 
they are separated is but eighteen hundred 
millions of miles. But if their position is on 
opposite, sides of the sun, the distance is in¬ 
creased by the whole diameter of the orbit of 
Uranus, or thirty-six hundred millions of miles. 
Then there will be a vast difference between 
the power exerted in one position from that in 
the other. Now if he could only find a point 
in which Uranus is drawn furthest from the 
sun—if it commences to sweep out, and hav¬ 
ing passed a certain point begins to gradually 
draw in, from the point where it was most 
drawn out, then in the prolongation of a line 
from the sun, passing that perihelion point 
must the unknown body be found. All he 
had to do was to find where Uranus was 
drawn furthest from the sun, and looking out 
in that direction he locates the body that draws 
it out. Having, therefore, found one position, 
and the time when Uranus occupied that po¬ 
sition, from its known periodic time, he traces 
up its movement and says at such a day it 
will occupy such a point in the heavens. He 
reaches the conclusion of his investigation and 
presents the results to the institute at Paris; 
they are thrown before the scientific world ; 
they are received with incredulity and doubt 
by the best living astronomers; the problem 
seems to have been too mighty—too intricate 
for any mind. But Leverrier desires them to 
point their telescopes to the position in which 
he says the unknown body exists: his request 
is granted, and lo ! to the amazement of the 
whole world, there is a planet exactly in the 
place pointed out. 

There was the triumph complete; and if 
any had before doubted those doubts were now 
removed, and the whole world rang with the 
praises of the great astronomer, Leverrier. 

And now, as if to make everything doubly 
sure, it is found that a young man of England 
had been engaged in investigating the same 
problem, had reached the same results, and 
seven months before Leverrier had published 
his, he had presented them to the astronomer 
roval of his own kingdom and the professors 
of his own university. They, not daring to 
take the responsibility of uttering them before 
the world, failed to do it; but so soon as 
Leverrier’s computations were known, so soon 
as the planet was found, then it became cer¬ 
tain that he had been investigating precisely 


the same problem and reached the same identi¬ 
cal results—each confirming the other, and 
the two combined convinced the world that 
they had reached the true results. 

Now do you think it possible that this is 
all false ? Having carried you to this point, 
am I obliged to tell you that these computa¬ 
tions had nothing whatever to do with finding 
of that planet? Yet I am absolutely obliged 
to do it, for it is true. How then shall I show 
you and convince you, that in announcing this 
truth I do not pluck a solitary laurel from the 
brow of this great man. No, not one! There 
they are. green as in the moment of their win¬ 
ning, and there they must remain for ever. 

As soon as it was known that the planet 
was discovered, telescopes were directed from 
every part of the world to its scrutiny. Its 
movements were followed with the most in¬ 
tense anxiety for the purpose of ascertaining 
how nearly the real coincided with the com¬ 
puted elements. Adams led the way, as he 
had before dime in the computation of the 
elements derived from theory, and when he 
reached to the knowledge of the actual dis¬ 
tance of the discovered planet, he was the 
first who found and announced that hitherto 
the discrepancy between the distance now ab¬ 
solutely known, and the first computation of 
the distance, amounted to about three times 
the distance of the earth from the sun. He 
had found by computation before the discovery 
that at the time of the discovery it ought to 
be thirty-three times the distance of the earth 
from the sun, whereas it was but thirty times. 
This did not appear to be a very great dis¬ 
crepancy, yet it was more than was anticipa¬ 
ted ; for had it been an error of three times 
the distance of the earth on the opposite side, 
there would have been more reason in it, be¬ 
cause it would have coincided more nearly 
with the distance revealed by the law of Bode. 
It seemed, in consequence of the fact that it 
had fallen on the inside, in some sense to have 
violated this law. 

But again: more time rolls on, and better 
observations are obtained. Finally, there 
seemed to be no data to commence a compu¬ 
tation of the orbit, that should reveal what 
the phases of the planet were in years past 
and gone, as well as what they will be when 
hundreds of years shall have rolled round. 
One of our own countrymen engaged in this 
investigation with ardor, zeal, and success. 
Walker, of the United States coast survey, 
obtained an orbit, and thought he could trace 
the motion of the planet backward for a hun¬ 
dred years. In tracing it backward he hoped 
to find in the catalogue of the fixed stars some 
one that might have been observed which 
should prove to be the planet, and thus give 
us the advantage of a long series of observa- 











238 LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 


tions extending over many years. The later 
catalogues were examined : he went back fifty 
years, till finally he took up the catalogue of 
Le Lande, made in Paris. He found the stars 
recorded by him, computed the reach through 
which he knew the planet to have followed 
at that date, till he discovered that on the 
10th of May, 1795, Le Lande had observed 
a star which then occupied a place where he 
computed the new planet should have follow¬ 
ed at that date. But how could he verify his 
prediction that this was the place, and Le 
Lande had seen the planet at that very date ? 
He turns his telescope to the region in the 
heavens which Le Lande’s star had filled, 
and if it were a fixed star it would be found 
there, but if it should turn out to be a planet, 
then would that spot be blank. The telescope 
was directed and lo ! the spot was a blank. 
Thus it was believed that this was the place 
of the planet; but when this place was taken 
into account, and when this observation was 
combined with later ones, behold! the orbit 
determined for this new body, and the period¬ 
ic time, fell entirely beyond the limits of 
Leverrier’s and Adams's computations, who 
had announced that it could not be a period 
shorter than 210 years nor longer than 2G8 
years. Here was a great discrepancy, so 
that it was impossible that this could be the 
the planet of their theory, in case these ob¬ 
servations could be sustained. And now it 
was that every eye was at once directed to 
the catalogue of Le Lande, to see what his 
observations were, and distinguish as to what 
observations were marked doubtful. There 
were discovered two little dots placed opposite 
this observation, and referring to his preface, 
it was found that observations marked with 
dots were not to be relied upon. Those who 
longed to find the grand theory which had 
been built by Leverrier to be true, hoped in 
this mark to find that which would save the 
system. So soon as a knowledge of this fact 
came to the institute at Paris, they appointed 
an astronomer to review all the old manu¬ 
scripts of Le Lande. It is found that on the 
night of the 16th of May, 1795, he made this 
observation and marked it doubtful. On the 
same identical piece of paper is discovered an 
observation made on the 8th of May, on a 
star, which he believes to have been incorrect¬ 
ly made; this he rejects and takes up what 
he thinks to be the same star, observes it on 
the 10th, prints that observation, rejects the 
other and marks the printed one doubtful. 
Now what a singular state of affairs is here ? 
But the moment the orbit of the planet is com¬ 
puted, that star of the 8th, is found to be in 
the place of our planet; and so instead of hav¬ 
ing one we have two observations, and the 
distance between the two stars of the 8th and 


10th is the same the planet ought to have 
travelled, upon the hypothesis we have already 
given. 

Now there seems to be no doubt left in re¬ 
gard to that fact that Adams and Leverrier 
stand before the world in a different position 
from what they had previously occupied ; but 
there is something yet left to be ascertained. 
There is a planet found in a most wonderful 
manner, occupying almost precisely the posi¬ 
tion their planet did occupy. Is it the planet 
that accounts for the perturbations of Uranus, 
or is it not ? This is the next question for 
examination. In order to ascertain that fact, 
it became necessary to know the mass of this 
new planet. In the onset it seemed hopeless 
to look for an answer to this question for a 
long period of years. But the scrutinizing 
gaze now directed to the heavens does not 
permit the most minute point to escape. At 
length it is announced that from the distance 
of three thousand millions of miles, the light 
of a little satellite is flung back all the way 
to the earth, and" that little satellite, by its 
periodic time around its planet, reveals to us 
how much matter belongs to this most distant 
orb. Now, although at present I do not know 
precisely the amount ascertained, for we have 
only approximated to it, yet the knowledge 
we have obtained tells us most certainly and 
absolutely that no mass can be assigned con¬ 
sistent with the periodic time of this satellite, 
which will account for the perturbation of 
Uranus; hence the conclusion is forced upon 
us that this is not the planet of theory, but we 
have got to look further before we can settle 
the question as to what produces all the per¬ 
turbations belonging to this interior planet. 

Now can I reconcile my statement or not ? 
Have Leverrier and Adams failed in the prob¬ 
lem they undertook to investigate? Have 
the.facts I have brought out lowered them in 
your estimation ? I hope not; for I can truly 
feel for these great men. They had resolved 
the problem they undertook; they had done 
it correctly; and in this they displayed the 
most extraordinary genius that ever has been 
exhibited by any human mind ; but alas ! for 
their fame, the problem they solved was not 
the problem of nature. God has permitted 
us to see that, and if I were permitted to in¬ 
terpret anything I would almost say, here is 
a special Providence to reward the lofty and 
powerful efforts of mankind. Such was the 
structure of the system that it was impossible 
to attain to a knowledge of it without the solu¬ 
tion of this problem, and such was the grandeur 
of the problem solved, that it deserved as its 
reward a world, and a world was given. 

I know you can comprehend this if I bring 
you back a little, and refer to what I told you 
the other night with reference to the asteroids, 










GUTTA-PERCHA. 


which sweep around between Mars and Jupi¬ 
ter. Suppose, before these were discovered, 
some daring genius had undertaken to resolve 
the mysteries in which the movements of Mars 
were involved and should have reached the 
conclusion, that they were produced by the 
action of a certain planet located between 
Jupiter and Mars, at a certain distance, and 
revolving in a certain period of time. Now 
here is a problem presented for solution, and 
worked out with consummate skill; but when 
the facts come to be known this problem does 
not exist in nature ; for there are no less than 
eight planets revolving in these limits, and 
combined they produce the same effect that 
would have been produced by the constructive 
planet. This is precisely the case in point, 
and this is the reason why it was impossible 
for Adams or Leverrier to give the elements 
of the orbit of the planet now found; for I 
have no doubt this is only one of more bodies 
which exist in the same region. 

Whether we shall ever attain to a knowl¬ 
edge of them, or be permitted to feast our eyes 
on them, it is impossible t5 know; but, a year 
ago, in the discussion of this subject, when I 
did not doubt that this was the planet, I ven¬ 
tured to say that, in case it should be found 
hereafter that the orbit of this planet was not 
very eccentric—carrying it off to a much 
greater distance than it now is, and thus ac¬ 
counting for the fact that its distance is less 
than that assigned by the law of Bode—that 
it was one of a group, how extended it is im¬ 
possible to say. 

I know the difficulties which I have had to 
encounter. I have tried to impress your minds 
with one great truth. I do not know how 
successful I have been; but I can not close 
without repeating once again : although this 
new planet is not the planet of Leverrier and 
Adams’s theory, yet it does not in the smallest 
degree detract from the just fame which is 
due to them for the resolution of this mighty 
problem. 


GUTTA-PERCHA. 

Although the trees yielding gutta-percha 
abound in the indigenous forests of Australia, 
it is scarcely five years since it was discovered 
by Europeans. The first notice taken of it 
appears to have been by Dr. William Mont¬ 
gomerie, in a letter to the Bengal Medical 
Board, in the beginning of 1843, wherein he 
commends the substance as likely to prove 
useful for some surgical purposes, and supposes 
it to belong to the fig tribe. In April, 1843, 
the substance was brought to Europe, by Dr. 


239 


d’Almeida, who presented it to the Royal So¬ 
ciety of Arts, London; but it did not at first 
attract much attention. 

The gutta-percha tree, or gutta-tuba, as it 
ought more properly to be called—the percha 
producing a spurious article—belongs to the 
natural family sapotece , but differs so much 
from all described genera, that the naturalists 
of Australia are inclined to rank it as a new 
genus. The tree is of large size, from sixty 
to seventy feet in height, and from two to 
three feet in diameter. 

The mode in which the natives obtain the 
gutta is by cutting down the trees of full 
growth, and wringing the bark at distances 
of about twelve to eighteen inches apart, and 
placing a cocoa-nut shell, spathe of a palm, 
or such like receptacle, under the fallen trunk 
to receive the milky sap that immediately 
exudes upon every fresh incision. This sap 
is collected in bamboos, taken to their houses, 
and boiled, in order to drive off the watery 
particles, aud inspissate it to the consistence 
it finally assumes. Although the process of 
boiling appears necessary where the gutta is 
collected in large quantities, if a tree be fresh¬ 
ly wounded, a small quantity allowed to ooze 
out, and it be collected and moulded in the 
hand, it will consolidate perfectly in a few 
minutes, and have all the appearance of the 
prepared article. When it is quite pure, the 
color is of a grayish white ; but, as brought to 
the market of Australia, it is more ordinarily 
found of a reddish hue, arising from chips of 
bark that fall into the sap in the act of making 
the incisions, and which yield their color to it. 
Besides these accidental chips, there is a great 
deal of intentional adulteration by sawdust 
and other materials. Some specimens that 
have been obtained were found to possess very 
little short of one fourth of impurities; and 
even the purest specimens yield, on being 
cleansed, one ounce of impurities per pound. 
Fortunately, it is difficult neither to detect nor 
to clear the gutta of foreign matter; it being 
only necessary to boil it in water until well 
softened, roll out the substance into thin sheets, 
and pick out all impurities; which is easily 
done, as the gutta does not adhere to anything; 
and all foreign matter is merely entangled in 
its fibres, not incorporated in its substance. 
Mr. Oxley has calculated that the quantity 
exported from Singapore to Great Britain and 
the continent, from the first of January, 1845, 
to the present date, amounts to about 7,000 
piculs; and that to obtain this quantity nearly 
70,000 trees have been sacrificed. 

When fresh and pure, the gutta is of a 
greasy feel, with a peculiarly leathery smell. 
It is not affected by boiling alcohol, but dis¬ 
solves readily in boiling spirits of turpentine ; 
also in naptha and coal tar. A good cement 









ST. THOMAS. WEST INDIES.—COTTON-BLEACHING. 


240 


for gluing bottles and other purposes, is form¬ 
ed by boiling together equal parts of gutta, 
coal tar, and resin. When required for use, 
it can always be made plastic by putting the 
pot containing it over the fire for a few min¬ 
utes. The gutta itself is very inflammable—- 
a strip cut off takes light and bums with a 
bright flame, emitting sparks, and dropping a 
'‘black residuum in the manner of sealing-wax ; 
which, in its combustion, it very much re¬ 
sembles. 

But the great peculiarity of this substance, 
and that which makes it so eminently useful 
for many purposes, is the effect of boiling- 
water upon it. When immersed for a few 
minutes in water above 150 degrees of Fahren- 
heit, it becomes soft and plastic, so as to be 
capable of being moulded to any required 
shape or form, which it retains upon cooling. 
If a strip of it be cutoff and plunged into boil¬ 
ing water, it contracts in size, in both length 
and breadth. This is a very anomalous and 
remarkable phenomenon, apparently opposed 
to all the laws of heat. It is this plasticity, 
when plunged into boiling water, that has al¬ 
lowed of its being applied to so many useful 
purposes, and which first induced some Ma¬ 
lays to fabricate it into whips, which were 
taken into some of the towns in Australia, and 
led to its further notice. The natives soon 
extended their manufactures to buckets, basins, 
and jugs, shoes, traces, vessels for cooling wine, 
and several other domestic purposes. The 
number of patents lately taken out for the 
manufacture of the article in this country, 
proves how much attention and interest have 
been attached to it, and how extensively use¬ 
ful it is likely, to become. 


SAINT THOMAS, WEST INDIES. 

St. Thomas is one of the three Danish 
Virgin Islands, and is about twelve miles long 
from east to west, with an average width of 
two miles and a half, which gives a surface 
of about thirty square miles. It is very un¬ 
even, but the height of its mountains has not 
been ascertained : the most elevated are west 
of the harbor of St. Thomas. Most of the 
white inhabitants are of Dutch origin, and 
Dutch is the common language. The planta¬ 
tions have yielded in one year 20,000 cwt. of 
sugar, 54,CH)0 gallons of rum, 18,000 gallons 
of molasses, and some cotton. But as large 
tracts are unfit for the production of colonial 
articles, maize, ground provisions, and fruits, 
are cultivated to a considerable extent. 

The town of St. Thomas is built on the 
north shore of a fine bay, which is about three 


miles long, and two wide, and has good anchor¬ 
age for 200 vessels. It derives its importance 
from being a free port, open to all nations, and, 
consequently, a great entrepot for articles of 
plantation consumption, such as timber, corn, 
and flour, which are shipped to it in large 
quantities from the United States. The town 
is built on three conical hills, of nearly equal 
elevation, on which stand some well-construct¬ 
ed fortresses, commanding the harbor and ship¬ 
ping. The houses are bnilt of stone or brick, 
and are tiled in the Dutch manner. The 
population is stated to exceed three thousand 
individuals, of whom four hundred are whites. 
The Virgin Islands, generally, are subject to 
earthquakes, but the shocks are slight, and 
are not attended with such dreadful consequen¬ 
ces as in the Antilles, which are further to the 
southeast. 


COTTON-BLEACHING. 

Cotton, flax, wool, and silk, have all, in 
their natural states, a certain shade of color. 
These tints remain with them more or less 
during the processes of weaving; so that if it 
be desired to produce them in a perfectly white 
form, it is necessary to subject them to some 
bleaching process. Bleaching, it must be 
borne in mind, is not imparting a color to cloth, 
but removing all color from it. 

The Egyptians and other ancient nations 
appear to have known certain modes of bleach¬ 
ing linen cloth ; but their processes, as well 
as those of later ages, are not well known to 
us. Until about a century ago, bleaching was 
hardly known in England, in either theory or 
practice. The brown linens made in Great 
Britain were sent to Holland to be bleached. 
This process consumed a long period, namely, 
from March to October of each year. The 
principal Dutch bleaching-grounds were in 
the neighborhood of Haarlem ; and the great 
success of their bleaching was ascribed to the 
superior efficacy of the water, which was 
filtered sea-water. The process consisted in 
steeping the linen for about a week in a potash 
ley poured over it boiling hot. The cloth was 
then taken out of the ley, washed, and put 
into wooden vessels containing butter-milk, in 
which it lay underpressure for five or six days; 
after this it was spread upon the grass, and 
kept wet for several months, exposed to the 
sunshine of summer. 

In 1749, an Irishman introduced a some¬ 
what similar mode of bleaching into England, 
and after many difficulties, succeeded in ef¬ 
fecting it tolerably well, but with lamentable 
slowness. From this time a succession of im- 












View of St. Thomas, West Indies, from Wright’sWharf. 



16 




































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































COTTON-BLEACHING. 


242 


provements took place. Dr. F. Home showed 
that that part of the effect which milk pro¬ 
duced in six or eight weeks, might be produced 
by weak sulphuric acid in twenty-four hours. 
This enabled the manufacturer to receive his 
bleached goods in a much shorter time than 
before, and therefore to trade with less capital. 

The next important, and in fact we may 
say the important improvement in the art of 
bleaching, resulted from the discovery of 
chlorine. This gas was first separated from 
muriatic acid by Scheele and Berthollet about 
the year 1780; and one of the first properties 
discovered in the new gas, was an extraordi¬ 
nary power of destroying vegetable color. 
This fact was soon taken up by Saussure, 
James Watt, Professor Copland, and Mr. Hen¬ 
ry, and other practical men, and a speedy rev- 
olution took place in the art of bleaching. 
There were, however, sundry objections made 
to the use of chlorine, on account of the offen¬ 
sive smell which it exhales. But it was dis¬ 
covered that the gas might be united with 
lime, whereby much of the odor was removed, 
without depriving the gas of its bleaching prop¬ 
erty. As a proof of the wonderful advance 
made in this art, Dr. Ure states, that an eminent 
bleacher in Lancashire once received fourteen 
hundred pieces of gray muslin on a Tuesday, 
which, on the Thursday immediately follow¬ 
ing, were returned bleached to the manufac¬ 
turers, at the distance of sixteen miles, and 
they were packed up and sent off on that very 
day to a foreign market; thus effecting in two 
days what formerly occupied six months! We 
will now describe the present mode of bleach¬ 
ing cotton fabrics. 

When the woven cotton passes to the bleach¬ 
er, he has the pieces sewn up end to end into 
a longer piece five hundred yards in length, 
and stamps the owner’s name on one end of 
each piece, which is done in a kind of ink 
formed of coal-tar. The cloth is then drawn 
rapidly over a hot iron, by which the hairy 
filaments of cotton are singed off without burn¬ 
ing the cloth itself. The pieces of cloth are 
next folded up into an irregular bundle, and 
thrown into a large cistern of cold water, 
where they become completely soaked. When 
quite wetted, the cloth is put into a revolving 
hollow cylinder, by which it undergoes a pro¬ 
cess of washing: this prepares it for the re¬ 
ception of the bleaching materials. 

A solution of lime is then prepared, by 
slaking quick-lime, and mixing it into a kind of 
cream with water: this cream is laid between 
the folds or a long piece of the cloth, and the 
whole is placed in a boiler, and boiled rapidly 
for several hours. This removes the paste 
which the cotton had received before being 
woven, and also the greasy spots which are 
likely to occur in the cloth. 


The cloth is now prepared to receive the 
bleaching-powder. This is a chloride of lime, 
and is made on a great scale in manufactories 
devoted to that express purpose. To produce 
it, a quantity of slaked lime is spread out on 
a stone floor, and the apartment closed in per¬ 
fectly air-tight. A leaden pipe leads from it 
to a large leaden vessel containing common 
table salt, black oxyde of manganese, and dilute 
sulphuric acid. A chymical action takes place 
among these ingredients, especially when aid¬ 
ed by heat; and the chlorine gas (one ingre¬ 
dient in common salt), becoming liberated, 
ascends through the leaden pipe, and unites 
chymically with the lime spread out on the 
floor. This, then, is the bleaching-powder; 
and in order to apply it to the cloth, twenty- 
four pounds are dissolved in sixty gallons of 
water, or if the quantity of cloth to be bleach¬ 
ed be seven hundred pounds, three hundred 
and eighty-eight pounds of bleaching-powder 
are dissolved in nine hundred and seventy-one 
gallons of water. In this cold solution the 
cloth is steeped for about six hours ; and on 
taking it out and washing it with water, it is 
found to be partially bleached. 

The bleaching is further extended by steep¬ 
ing the cloth for a few hours in water contain¬ 
ing a little sulphuric acid : this removes the 
oxyde of iron which the cloth is apt to contain, 
and also the small portion of lime which is 
liable to adhere to it. The cloth is again 
washed in cold water, and again steeped for 
five or six hours in a solution of bleaching- 
powder, weaker than the first. Lastly, anoth¬ 
er steeping for four hours in water' slightly 
impregnated with sulphuric acid, presents the 
cotton cloth in a purely white state. It will 
thus be seen that the cloth, even under the 
improved process, undergoes a complicated 
treatment; but if it be of inferior quality, 
some of the above processes are omitted. 

But the labors of the bleacher are not yet 
ended; there are many finishing processes 
still to be done. When the last bleaching is 
ended, the cloth is carefully washed, to re¬ 
move all traces of the acid, &c. It is then 
squeezed , to force out as much as possible 
remaining in the cloth: this squeezing be¬ 
ing effected by passing the cloth between two 
rollers working closely on each other. The 
cloth is now damp and much crumpled ; and 
the next process is to pull out each piece to 
its full breadth : this is done by women. But 
the edges of the piece still continue folded in. 
To make them straight, a workman strikes 
the bundle against a smooth beating stock, first 
one edge, and then the other. By this pro¬ 
cess the pieces are spread out to their full 
breadth, and all the folds and wrinkles re¬ 
moved. 

The cloth is then mangled while wet: this 












IMPORTANCE OF SELF-KNOWLEDGE. 243 


is done by passing it between rollers, by which 
it is made tolerably smooth and even, and 
ready for starching or stiffening. The starch 
employed for this purpose is made from flour 
with the addition of a small quantity of some 
earthy substance. It is mixed into a thick 
paste, and poured into a box or vat. The cloth 
is made to dip into this vat, and thus imbibe 
a portion of starch, and immediately afterward 
to pass between two rollers, which expel the 
superfluous starch, and work the remainder 
well into the pores of the cloth, by which it 
becomes thickened. It has been observed, 
“This method of thickening was undoubtedly 
intended at first as a fraudulent method of 
making the purchaser believe that the cloth 
was much stouter and thicker than it really 
was. But it has been so long practised, and 
is now so universally known, that all pur¬ 
chasers must be aware of it, and of course not 
in any danger of being deceived. But it cer¬ 
tainly serves the purpose of making the goods 
appear much more beautiful, and of a stouter 
fabric to the eye; and as long as they continue 
unwashed, they are really stronger than they 
would be without this artificial dressing. So 
far it is beneficial; and as it does not enhance 
the price, the purchasers have no reason to 
complain of imposition.” 

The starched cloth is hung up in a heated 
room to dry : and is then ready for calender¬ 
ing , or imparting a smoothness and gloss to it. 
For this purpose, it is damped by being slight¬ 
ly sprinkled with water by an ingenious ma¬ 
chine, and is then forced between two rollers, 
which press it very heavily. Different ap¬ 
pearances, varying from that of a soft silky 
lustre to that of wiry texture, are given to it 
by varying the degree of pressure. The cloth 
is now finished, and is folded into a pile, with 
pasteboard and iron plates between the folds, 
and subjected to a heavy pressure, in a Bramah 
press. When removed from this press, the 
cloth is unfolded, and consigned to the respec¬ 
tive owners. 

Thus we see that the process of bleaching 
a piece of cotton involves more than twenty 
distinct processes; and yet the charge for the 
whole is less than one half-penny per yard ! 
Such is the effect of combined improvements 
in mechanical and chymical processes; im¬ 
provements which give to the large bleach- 
works of Lancashire an interest felt by both 
the man of science, and the intelligent observer 
who looks only to learn. 

Reason. —Without reason, as on a tempest¬ 
uous sea, we are the sport of every wind and 
wave, and know not, till the event hath deter¬ 
mined it, how the next billow will dispose of 
us; whether it will dash us against a rock, or 
drive us into a quiet harbor. 


IMPORTANCE OF SELF-KNOWLEDGE, 

There is no theme upon which humanity 
can bestow its attention to more advantage, 
nor which imparts to its votarist, more real 
pleasure, than the pursuit of knowledge. But 
of all the various departments of knowledge, 
there is no one which carries with it more im¬ 
portance—which is so intimately identified 
with the welfare of each individual and hence 
with the general interests of humanity, nor 
which is more frequently neglected than that 
which constitutes the subject of the present 
article. 

The duty of self-knowledge, has ever been 
looked upon, by the more intelligent of every 
nation, as indispensable to the temporal as well 
as spiritual interests of man. The ancient 
Greeks, though destitute of a knowledge of 
the Scriptures, were not insensible to its im¬ 
portance. But so deeply conscious were they 
of its noble and decidedly religious tendency 
that they caused the inscription, “ Know thy¬ 
self” to be consecrated in golden characters 
on the ancient temple of Delphos. 

Even Cicero, the great Roman orator, at¬ 
tributed its authenticity to the gods, believing 
it to convey too much weight of sense and 
wisdom to be attributed to man. Such is the 
estimation in which it was held in the darker 
ages of heathen superstition. And corrobora¬ 
ted, as it now is, by divine truth, it falls with 
increased weight at the shrine of every man’s 
duty. “ Stand in awe and sin not, commune 
with your own hearts upon your bed, and be 
still.” Psalm iv. 4. “Examine yourselves 
whether ye be in the faith, prove your own 
selves, know ye not your own selves, how 
that Jesus Christ is in you, except ye be repro¬ 
bates?” 2 Cor. xiii. 5. 

By self-knowledge, we understand a thor¬ 
ough acquaintance with our own nature—a 
thorough knowledge of our own character— 
our own abilities—the motives prompting us 
to act—the prejudices of our hearts—our du¬ 
ties, our thoughts, our virtues, and our vices. 
A thorough knowledge of these, will enable 
us to meet the responsibilities of life, and serve 
to promote our usefulness toward our fellow- 
men. 

The man who diligently acquaints himself 
with the negotiation of his neighbors, and 
neglects his own business, becomes an object 
of censure. He who eagerly studies the his¬ 
tory and anxiously regards the movements of 
foreign nations and pays no attention to the 
history and legislation of his own country, 
justly renders himself ridiculous in the estima¬ 
tion of every honest and intelligent citizen. 
So too, that man whose privilege it is to 
“ stand midway between the kingdom of na¬ 
ture and that of immortal spirits,” who might 













I 

244 IMPORTANCE OP SELF-KNOWLEDGE. 


recognise in himself one of the “ highest be¬ 
ings in nature,” who can look down upon and 
investigate everything below himself; who 
knows “ the soil which he cultivates and the 
stars which regulate the seasons “ who is 
the measure of the earth and all it contains, 
and who unites what is dispersed in nature, 
every power and every beauty in himself,” 
—although he eagerly drinks from the rich 
fountain of general knowledge, if he learns 
not to know himself,\ his frailties, his human 
weakness, his sinful nature, and at the same 
time his duties, and noble capacities, will after 
all seem awkward to the eyes of the commu¬ 
nity and subject himself to the censure of the 
world. 

Man, as a relative being, stands intimately 
related to the world. And it is only when he 
brings his own personal peculiarities to har¬ 
monize with external influence, that he can 
properly meet the object of his existence. 
This, he can accomplish, only so far, as he is 
thoroughly acquainted with himself. 

From the preceding, it follows, that self- 
knowledge constitutes the foundation rock of 
the lofty structure of general knowledge. 
Without it, the structure, like the house on 
sandy bottom, will be subject to foreign influ¬ 
ence, driven here and there at pleasure, hav¬ 
ing nothing fixed nor stable, and the subject 
himself will be disqualified for his responsi¬ 
bilities and duties. 

Knowledge, we are told “ puffeth up and 
maketh man proud and haughty.” This charge 
is perhaps not groundless when the subject is 
not acquainted with himself. But self-knowl¬ 
edge which reveals the hidden evil of our 
hearts, looks into the secret recesses of our 
minds and exposes to our view our faults and 
imperfections, is calculated to humiliate and 
subdue our naturally haughty spirits. It ex¬ 
erts a healthful influence over our general 
character, awakens the nobler feelings of the 
soul, and enables us to frame our actions in 
such a way that they will adorn our sta¬ 
tion. Hence the necessity, and in the first 
place, of a thorough acquaintance with our 
nature. 

In the contemplation of our nature, we have 
presented before our minds a picture, at once, 
indeed rude and uncomely; but again, dis¬ 
playing all the beauty, magnificence, and splen¬ 
dor imaginable. We behold in it, the dark 
valleys of depravity, the deserts of sin, and 
the polluted swamps of iniquity, without a ray 
of light to reveal its hidden beauties, or a single 
flower to shed its fragrance round. Its rich 
stores and treasures lie buried beneath the 
fragments of its own ruin. We see it deserted 
by all that is good and amiable, and abandoned 
to the frowns of an incensed Deity. Such is 
the first stage of human nature. But again, 

9 


cultivated by the skilful hand of an all-wise 
Providence ; fertilized by the rich stores of 
his goodness, and watered by the refreshing 
streams of long-suffering and forbearance, it 
is brought to bloom and blossom as the rose. 
Its hidden beauties are brought to light, and 
its rich stores and treasures prominently pre¬ 
sented to our view. As we contemplate it, 
we learn to appreciate its worth. We see its 
superiority over the nature of the animal. 
“ We discover in ourselves, apart from our 
bodies which we have in common with the 
animal, mind immortal and rational in its na¬ 
ture, which traverses almost infinity of space, 
and elevates us far above all other creation.” 
We also “discover in ourselves capacity for 
reflection, penetration, and study, together 
with man/ other mental operations of which 
we have no symptoms in the animal.” Thus 
the contemplation of our nature has, in the 
first place, an humiliating tendency. And as 
we learn to know ourselves the deep-toned 
chords of our hearts swell with sympathetic 
feeling when we see others deviate from the 
path of duty in which they were wont to tread. 
Again, as we contemplate its beauty and worth 
we learn to appreciate the power, the glory 
and the goodness of Him who has cultivated its 
barren wastes, endowed it with those noble 
faculties, impressed upon it his own image, 
and exalted it even to the attainment of his 
favor. Conscious of our entire unworthiness, 
and of the goodness of God as manifested tow¬ 
ard us, we also feel the debt of gratitude we 
owe to him for our deliverance. Aided by the 
power of the Holy Spirit, and the light of the 
gospel, we endeavor to discharge this debt by 
bringing our bodies and minds and all we are 
in conformity to his will. This conviction 
originating, as it does, from a sense of gratitude, 
love the most noble feeling of the soul becomes 
the moving spring of our actions and sheds 
forth a happy influence which may tell to the 
eternal interests of those with whom we asso¬ 
ciate. These, kind reader, are some of the 
advantage derived from this department of 
self-knowledge. How important then that we 
should contemplate our nature. 

Again: we should familiarize ourselves with 
our character. It is strange, and yet true, that 
men are exceedingly deficient in this depart¬ 
ment of science. The man who has not at¬ 
tended to this department of self-knowledge 
frequently finds himself involved in difficulties 
the most unpleasant. We are much disposed 
to estimate the character of others, by our 
own, and where this is not fairly understood, 
the estimate must necessarily be unjust. We 
frequently condemn others for the same faults 
of which we ourselves are guilty, or offend at 
small blemishes in the character of another 
while we look with perfect satisfaction upon 





















IMPORTANCE OF SELF-KNOWLEDGE. 245 


much greater ones in our own. This is the 
result of self-ignorance. It is only when men 
are brought to understand their own character 
that they can form a proper estimate of that 
of another. And would we be useful and con¬ 
sistent ourselves or to others we must under¬ 
stand our character. Upon a moment’s re¬ 
flection the truth of this position will be mani¬ 
fest. “ Affectation,” says a popular writer, 
“ is the spring of all ridicule, and self-ignor¬ 
ance the true source of affectation.” This 
fact bears with as much weight and import¬ 
ance. He who knows not himself, knows not 
what will beautify and adorn his character, 
and proudly desiring to appear to the best ad¬ 
vantage frequently affects one entirely differ¬ 
ent from his own, and thus acting either above 
or beneath himself, in either case becomes 
equally ridiculous in the estimation of the 
wise. The man, however, who understands 
his character, views it in its proper light. He 
estimates it according to its moral worth, and 
thus conducts himself in a way becoming his 
station. Not influenced by the vain notions 
of noble birth, though he possess all the pow¬ 
er, wealth can bestow, he feels that an ad¬ 
verse change of fortune can bring him to cir- 
cumstances of want; that he too is a man 
subject to all the faults, sorrows and trials of 
his race, and hence he condescends to all, 
though humble, yet amiable, noble, and worthy 
deeds; “but in his condescension there is a 
true dignity which elevates and exalts him in 
the estimation of the world.” 

Another and important part of self-knowl¬ 
edge is, a thorough acquaintance with our 
abilities. Many of the censures, disappoint¬ 
ments, and sorrows of life are to be attributed 
to self-ignorance in this view. It has pleased 
Providence to award to every man certain 
capacities and talents which develop them¬ 
selves and, if properly understood, serve to 
promote his usefulness in the world. The 
man, however, who is unacquainted with these 
capacities neither knows what he can, nor 
what he can not do. Hence he either spends 
his days in careless inactivity, or influenced, 
as men frequently are, by a vain desire to 
display, presumes to undertake what he by no 
means has power to accomplish. Thus vainly 
endeavoring to grasp such laurels as lie far be¬ 
yond his reach, in order that he may decorate 
his brow with wreaths of honor, he precipi¬ 
tates himself headlong down the cragged rocks 
of public censure, each successive tumble 
bringing him nearer and nearer the final gulf 
of dishonor and disgrace. Thus we frequent¬ 
ly find men of very ordinary capacity en¬ 
deavoring to fathom the deep principles of 
philosophy and reveal the faults and errors 
of others, with whose minds were their own 
to be compared, they would be almost as a 


drop to the ocean or the veriest atom to a 
world. 

Who, that has read Horace’s epistle to Pison 
has not been struck with the truth, the weight, 
and importance of his suggestion as contained 
in the following extract:— 

“ Examine well, ye writers, weigh with care 
W hat fruit your genius, what your strength can bear, 
For when a well-proportioned theme ye choose 
Nor words, nor method shall their aid refuse. 

In this, or I mistake, consists the grace 
And force of method, to assign a place 
For what with present judgment we should say, 
And for some happier time the rest delay.” 

He who knows his abilities contemplates 
well before he begins whether he will be able 
to perform, and in so doing never ventures be¬ 
yond his legitimate sphere. Though anxious 
to meet the responsibilities of life, and willing 
to endure the toil and labor of civil, literary, 
and religious warfare, he is careful to observe 
that the means at hand are adequate to the 
object proposed. 

Again, there are no faults to which we are 
more subject and yet less conscious of than 
our prejudices. These, though latent, present 
the greatest barriers to a fair and honest judg¬ 
ment imaginable. To know and understand 
these constitutes another important part of 
self-knowledge. The circumstances of our 
youth, our general system of education, and 
the selfish disposition of our hearts, all seem 
to exert a prejudical influence over our minds. 
This is manifest from our early disposition to 
cling to one system of opinions on religion, 
politics, or philosophy, and reject the other 
while in reality we scarcely understand the 
principles of either. This is not the result of 
fair and honest investigation, but of mere 
speculative notions imbibed according to the 
peculiar circumstances with which we are 
surrounded. This disposition, if permitted to 
flow on uninterruptedly, naturally develops 
itself, and finally so perfectly overshadows 
and biases our minds as to render them “im¬ 
penetrable by the rays of truth or light of 
reason.” But apart from external influence 
prejudices frequently arise from a vain convic¬ 
tion of our own good sense and understanding. 
Hence we form notions and invent plans, and 
supported by a good share of self-esteem, pro¬ 
claim them to the world confident of their ex¬ 
cellence and superior merit. Should how¬ 
ever, another, whose mind is less darkened by 
the black mantle of self-sufficiency, detect 
and expose their faults, though it be with all 
possible kindness, we immediately attribute it 
to ill will, envy, or ignorance on his part and 
proudly resent it, never dreaming that the 
fault might after all lie with ourselves. Such, 
however, is not the case with the votarist of 
self-knowledge. His object is truth. And 
does he discover a plan or advance an idea he 








I - 


246 LITERATURE 


I views it well by the scrutinizing eye of honest 
judgment, weighs it in the balance of sound 
sense, and impartially compares it with the 
fair standard of truth, and does he, or another 
discover that it is wrong, he nobly renounces 
it, and, grasping the lingering ray of truth, re¬ 
joices that his mind may again move in that 
pleasing element so congenial to its growth. 

Reader, be persuaded to devote your atten¬ 
tion to this important duty. Make it a fre¬ 
quent theme of contemplation. Learn to 
know yourself, and you will go forth in your 
respective pursuits with increased interest and 
delight. You may sit by the still fountains 
of literature, rove over the beautiful plains of 
art, or ascend the lofty hill of science, and in 
all these you will discover new charms, and 
new beauties. It will adorn your actions, 
which honorable, noble, consistent, and be¬ 
coming your station, will elicit public favor 
• and approbation. It will be to you a fountain 
<■ head of noble deeds. It will strew your path 
with fragrant flowers, and finally, when you 
; stand upon the verge of the eternal world, you 
i will look, back with pleasing recollections and 
j recall the happy day when you first resolved 
to make self-knowledge a theme of contempla- 
\ tion. 

j_ 

| LITERATURE OF THE JEWS. 

Thk indebtedness of the literary world to 
I the Israelites, has not been generally recog¬ 
nised nor realized by Christian scholars. To 
j illustrate the obligations of literature to the 
Jews, we need not dwell on the fact that this 

I people were the penmen, and the chosen de¬ 
positaries of that wonderful book which con¬ 
tains the only reliable history of the world for 
; many centuries, and which has more sublime 
j and beautiful poetry, and more valuable moral 
instruction than all other books—though this 
should entitle them to the lasting respect of 
| the world; for ever since the dispersion of the 
■ Jews among the Gentiles—by whom they have 
been a despised and persecuted people—-the 
children of Israel have distinguished them¬ 
selves by their pursuit of literature. 

In the darkness of the middle ages, they in¬ 
terested themselves in the studies of the Arabs, 
who for successive ages, were the sole patrons 
of learning, and by means of translations into 
Hebrew and Latin, diffused a knowledge of 
the sciences through the different countries 
] of Europe in which they resided. Even pre¬ 
vious to the ninth century the Jews produced 
' several original works on morals and philoso- 
| phy. 

In the tenth century science was assiduous- 
; ly cultivated by them in Spain. At Toledo, 


OF THE JEWS. 


they had schools which were greatly celebra¬ 
ted and crowded with scholars, no less than 
twelve thousand pupils attended them. In 
mathematics and astronomy, there were no 
schools in Europe that could compete with 
those at Toledo. Aben Ezra, a Jew, was the 
inventor of the method of dividing the celestial 
sphere equatorially; and it is said that in some 
of the philosophical treatises by the Jews of 
that period, allusion is made to that important 
principle in the Newtonian system—the at¬ 
traction of the heavenly bodies. 

What was true of the Jews in Spain, was 
likewise true of their brethren in Portugal, 
Germany, Italy, Franee, and elsewhere; ev¬ 
erywhere during the ages of darkness and gen¬ 
eral ignorance, the dispersed Israelites were 
the zealous cultivators and successful teachers 
of the important sciences. 

They were also distinguished for their 
knowledge of medicine ; and notwithstanding 
the bitterest persecutions with which they 
were everywhere visited, they supplied physi¬ 
cians to most of the kings of Europe, and even 
to some of the popes of Rome. 

Thus w T ere the Israelites the cultivators 
and transmitters of learning through the entire 
period of darkness and gloom which enveloped 
the minds of men during successive centuries. 
As they had been the faithful depositaries of 
those sacred books so invaluable to men, thus 
were they also, under Providence, not only 
the depositaries, but, from their peculiar con¬ 
dition and dispersion, the propagators of hu¬ 
man science and knowledge in all the king¬ 
doms of Europe. 

These facts are deeply interesting if not 
new, and are suggestive of the debt of grati¬ 
tude which the Christian world owes to the 
still dispersed and despised descendants of 
Abraham. 


Domestic Economy. — The wetting of 
coals is very false economy, as, though they 
burn slower, a great deal of heat is wasted in 
drying, and carried off in the steam. 

In airing rooms , both the upper and lower 
parts of the window should be opened, as the 
bad and heated air, from its lightness, will 
pass out at the top, and the fresh cool air come 
in at the bottom. 

A blanket is a cooler covering than a sheet 
in summer, because it allows the perspiration 
to escape. Sheets feel cooler at first, because 
they carry off the heat of the body quicker; 
but when they become as warm as the body, 
they feel warmer, by confining the perspira¬ 
tion. 

Roast meat is more nutritious than boiled, 
as in boiling the gelatine is extracted, and dis¬ 
solved in the water. 














INDIAN LOCK.—HOW TO LIVE. 


247 



Indian Lock. 


INDIAN LOCK. 

This curious lock is in the form of a bird; 
probably, representing the Hindoo god, Ga- 
ruda, the carrier or bearer of Vishnu, the sec¬ 
ond of the Hindoo triad, Garuda being to 
Vishnu what the eagle is to Jupiter. Garuda 
is worshipped by the natives of Madras ; and, 
his living type, a kind of large hawk, is dili¬ 
gently fed by the devotees: the writer has 
often seen the worshippers with little baskets, 
filled with flesh, which is thrown skilfully, a 
small piece at a time, into the air, while they 
shout, “Hari! Hari!” a name of Vishnu, and 
the bird stoops on the wing and takes the prey. 
Garuda is supposed to possess human, or, 
rather, divine, intelligence, and is much rev¬ 
ered. Many stories are told of his discernment 
and cunning; and it is, probably, on this ac¬ 
count that the native artist has made his lock 
in the form of Garuda, a sufficient guaranty, 
in his notion, for its acting as a safety or de¬ 
tector, equal, or even superior, to the more 
mechanical and scientific inventions of Bramah 
or Chubb. We should add, that, in this Indian 
lock, the keyhole is on the side, one of the wings 
of the bird serving as a shifting escutcheon. 

o o 


HOW TO LIVE, 

Nervous Indulgence. —All nervous and 
melancholy people should not only seek occu- 
| pation to divert self-reflections from their lead- 
j ing grievance, but determinedly not think 


of it, even though they can find nothing else 
to do. Ever-present apprehensions, misgiv¬ 
ings, and even sensations, are the growth of 
habit, as much as the musician is always sing¬ 
ing, the poet rhapsodizing, or the artist sketch¬ 
ing. No man can do two things at once, any 
more than a man can be at two places at the 
same time ; and hence, engage but the mind 
in a new task, no matter whether it be to 
count a hundred or set off on an errand, and 
the dull thought will give way to the circum¬ 
stance of the moment. We contend it is 
possible in this way to subdue grief—to avert 
distressing reflections, and to struggle against 
difficulties. There are a thousand occupa¬ 
tions that might engage the best of us, success¬ 
fully too, if we inquire into and can find our 
capacities. Learning a language—studying 
music — singing — horticulture —dancing (a 
most excellent device)—drawing—opera-going 
—sight-seeing—riding and driving out—trav¬ 
elling (above all others)—-jaunting—making 
excursions—following the pleasures of the 
day ; and if none of these possess attractions, 
it is unwise to indulge in the one thought—for 
brooding rivets the malady, and the chances 
are against our ever resuming the position in 
life we have fallen from. 

Think of the shortness of life, and what a 
piece of extreme folly it is to waste an hour in 
heedless lamentation and wo. Fretting never 
repaired a loss—never filled up a chasm— 
never mended a broken limb—never smother¬ 
ed a fire. The moment a circumstance is 
past—if it be inimical, set instantly, like the 
bird with its stolen nest, to repair it. The 
mischief often happens for the best. 





































































































248 HOW TO LIVE. 


On Exercise, Horse-Riding, and Gym¬ 
nastics.— Nothing can exceed the value of 
exercise. Nature made man to be moving as 
birds are made to fly; and it is unnatural not 
to use the powers we are supplied with. In 
walking—which is before every other action, 
except horse-riding, and that, by-the-by (only 
we are told “ all things are made for our use”) 
is, by some, a questionable right of man’s au¬ 
thority—every muscle is brought in play. In 
consequence, the blood circulates with greater 
force and rapidity; and so long as we do not 
excite the same too powerfully, so long may 
we walk and move about, short of fatigue. 

Horse-exercise is sanatory and recreative. 
Healthy from securing thereby abundance of 
exercise—getting over distances and far into 
the country, procuring thus fresh air and 
mental occupation—and of an agreeable kind ; 
because the very management of a steed re¬ 
quires some little address and attention. It 
strongly behooves all dyspeptics to whom time 
is an object, and who, besides, may not be 
strong enough to walk two or three miles, to 
secure by hook or crook, a cob or a poney. 
The anxious man may plead expense as a 
hindrance ; but surely the hiring might be sub¬ 
stituted in the case for purchasing: more also 
is made of the latter than need be. Seventy 
or eighty dollars will be begrudged for a horse ; 
whereas the same money will be spent in a 
feast, or parted with in an incautious credit, 
or laid aside for some little unnecessary ex¬ 
travagance. Many a man has to reflect, that 
it would have been better for him to have 
bought his horse, than to have done so and so 
with his money. 

Where ambling and cantering are quite im¬ 
possible, and a two-legged conveyance is all 
that can be commanded, pray, my friend, be 
you invalid or otherwise, use it ; do not 
“stick” indoors all day, but make an effort 
and get over, by gentle or brisker efforts, some 
three or four miles a day. If your business 
confine you from eight till eight, or six till six, 
there is still time left before and afterward. 
Have that to yourself, and spend it in walking 
in the sun, if possible, at least in the air, and 
j where you can, as far from town or narrow 
j streets as may be. 

There are thousands of people whose only 
; complaint is want of exercise. A bloated 
i paunch may, by exercise and abstinence, be 
rendered classically spare and elegant. The 
“ city ’prentice,” the friendless youth, or the 
young gentleman, all of whom service, re¬ 
straint, or indolence, forbids stepping beyond, 
scarcely, can it be called, in and out of bed, 
what would they not derive from a couple of 
hours’ daily walk in the fresh air? It would 
make a hero of each—every lad might become 
a Whittington—many of them mayors. The 


pale face, bloodless lips and sunken eyes of 
many a young maiden, also might be restored 
to roseate health, by an hour or two’s morning 
walk in the parks, or the high roads, or the 
fields: and how it behooves fathers and mothers 
to insist upon their daughters that need it, 
doing as much, if the young ladies have no 
faith in the means themselves. 

Our time should be thus distributed: eight 
hours' rest—eight hours' application to our 
engagements, studies, worldly duties, arid 
the remaining eight to health and recreation. 
This is a good division where practicable. 

The Flesh Brush. —Horse-hair gloves, 
soft and hard brushes, to rub the body with, 
or friction or shampooing of the same, with 
the uncovered hand, are severally recommend¬ 
ed by medical men. I am a believer in the 
usefulness of each variety; but I give prefer¬ 
ence to the latter, the use of the hand; and 
I advise its application, local and general. 

Friction of the abdomen, in cases of torpid 
liver, distended bowels, or a morbidly irritable 
stomach, is of great service. It will not, how¬ 
ever, suffice merely to rub the hand over the 
belly half a dozen times. The bowels, liver, 
and stomach, should be regularly kneaded, 
for at least fifteen or twenty times every day ; 
the easiest times certainly are, before rising 
and on going to bed; but the best time is be¬ 
tween meals, when the food is all but digested. 

In young and delicate persons, friction of 
the entire body is highly serviceable ; and it 
is no bad additional morning and evening 
amusement for an adult to use the. “ hair 
brush” or the “flesh brush,” or the hand, 
which is the best, over legs, arms, and entire 
body. The advantages of this process are, 
that it can be done without assistance; but 
with elderly and infirm people, a rubber is 
indispensable. The result will be, that all 
the digestive organs will be excited into some¬ 
thing like action. Where exercise is forbid¬ 
den, by involuntary confinement or other 
causes, the shampooing supplies its place; 
but it must be continued (it will not hurt) all 
the year round ; and it should form a species 
of gymnastics, night and morning, from five to 
ten minutes more or less each time. The 
stomach receives thereby a glow that diffuses 
itself over the entire abdomen; and I have 
known cases of constipation most agreeably 
relieved by the same. 

The use of dumb-bells is salutary, as indeed 
are all. gymnastic recreations, lifting light 
weights, suspending the body by the hands, 
swinging, skipping, etc., etc. Battledore and 
shuttlecock is an excellent game for grown-up 
people. Get into an unlumbered room, or a 
courtyard, and alone, or with a playmate, 
determine to number a thousand jerks of the 
feathered cock. Never mind the seeming 

O 













———————— 1 I 

ZOOPHITES, OR PLANT ANIMALS. 249 


puerility of playing “ with trifles light as air.” 
You will get into a wholesome glow, and de¬ 
rive much amusement at the fun of it. “ Let 
those laugh who win.” Cricket is a splendid 
game; bowls an amusing one; billiards, if 
played only for friendly contention, are mental¬ 
ly recreative and physically useful. In short, 
whether you be man or woman, boy or maiden, 
old or young, move about and take exercise 
in the best way you can, and as much “un¬ 
housed” as possible. Exercise is positively 
a virtue; and “virtue is,” as the school-boy’s 
copy has it, “ its own reward.” 


ZOOPHITES, Oil PLANT ANIMALS. 

Thf.se wonderful productions are so denom¬ 
inated, on account of their existing in the shape 
of plants. They are very numerous, and the 
greater part of them have so great a resem¬ 
blance to vegetables, that they have generally 
been considered as such, although the horny 
and stony appearance of several of the tribe, 
declares them at first view, to be of a widely 
different nature from the generality of plants. 
In others, however, the softness of their sub¬ 
stance, and the ramified mode of their growth, 
would lead any one not acquainted with their 
real nature, to suppose them vegetables. The 
hard, horny or stony zoophites are in general 
known by the name of corals; and of these 
several distinctions are formed, either from 
the structure and appearance of the coral or 
hard part, or from the affinity which the soft¬ 
er or animal part bears to some other genus 
among soft-bodied animals, or mollusca. The 
zoophites may be therefore said to unite the 
animal and vegetable kingdoms, so as to fill 
up the intermediate space. 

Belonging to the class of zoophite worms, 
the fresh water polypes are infinitely curious. 
These animals may be found in small streams, 
and in stagnant waters, adhering to the stems 
of aquatic plants, or to the under surface of 
the leaves, and other objects. If a polype be 
cut in two parts, the superior part will pro¬ 
duce a new tail, and the inferior part a new' 
head and arms; and this, in warm weather, in 
the course of a very few days. If cut into 
three pieces, the middle portion will produce 
both head and tail; and in short, polypes may 
be cut in all directions, and will still repro¬ 
duce the deficient organs. The natural mode of 
propagation in this animal, is by shoots or off¬ 
sets, in the manner of a plant; one or more 
branches or shoots proceed from the parent 
stem, dropping off* when complete; and it 
often happens that these young branches pro¬ 
duce others before they themselves drop oil 


from the parent; so that a polype may be 
found with several of its descendants still ad¬ 
hering to its stem, thus constituting a real 
genealogical tree. The polype, likewise, du¬ 
ring the autumnal seasons, deposites eggs, 
which involve themselves afterward into dis¬ 
tinct animals ; and thus possessing two modes 
of multiplication. It seems paradoxical that 
a polype should be able to swallow a worm, 
three or four times as large as itself, which is 
frequently observed to happen; but it must 
be considered that the body of the animal is 
extremely extensile, and that it possesses, in 
an extraordinary degree, the power of stretch¬ 
ing itself according to the size of the substance 
it has to swallow. It seizes its prey with 
great eagerness, but swallows it slowly, in the 
same manner as a snake swallows any small 
quadruped. The arms of a polype, when 
microscopically examined, are found to be fur¬ 
nished with a vast number of small organs, 
apparently acting like so many suckers, by 
the means of which the animal can hold a 
worm, even though but slightly in contact 
with one of its arms; but when on the point 
of swallowing its prey, it then makes use of 
all its arms at once, in order to absorb it the 
more readily. 

Corals, on being gathered perfectly fresh, 
and planted in sea-water, appear to put forth 
small flowers from all the minute cavities, or 
hollow points on the surface. These sup¬ 
posed flowers (for such an idea has been en¬ 
tertained) are real animals ; and consequently 
corals are to he considered as aggregates of 
animals, either forming, or at least inhabiting 
the calcareous substance of the coral in which 
they appear. The smaller corals, commonly 
known by the name of corallines, or sea-mos¬ 
ses, are so many ramified sea-polypes, covered 
with a kind of strong, horny case, to defend 
them from the injuries to which they would 
be liable, in the boisterous element destined 
for their abode. 

The harder, or stony corals, are equally of 
an animal nature ; the entire coral continuing 
to grow' as an animal, and to form, by secre¬ 
tion, the stronger or homy exterior which may 
at once be considered as its bone, and the hab¬ 
itation in which it has constantly to dwell. 
A coral of this kind is therefore, a large com¬ 
pound zoophite, springing up from the rock, 
in which it seems to have taken root, and 
shooting out into branches like a vegetable 
production. 

Sponges afford another curious instance of 
zoophitic life. There are forty-nine species 
of this zoophite, each of which is character¬ 
ized in the Linnaean system as a fixed animal, 
flexile, torpid, of various forms, composed 
of either reticulate fibres, or masses of small 
spines interwoven together, and clothed with 














250 BELEM, OR PARA.—THE SELF-TORMENTORS. 


a gelatinous flesh, full of small mouths on its 
surface, by which it absorbs and rejects 
water. The existence of the animal inhabi¬ 
tant within its cell, has been satisfactorily as¬ 
certained by the observations and experiments 
of Ellis, on the spongia tormentosa. He 
remarked its contraction when exposed to pain 
or injury, as well as the expiration and inspi¬ 
ration of water through its tubes. He thus 
established the position that sponge is an ani¬ 
mal, and that the ends or openings of the 
branched tubes are the mouths by which it 
receives its nourishment and discharges its 
excrementitious matter. This position chym- 
istry has since abundantly supported, by prov¬ 
ing the ammoniacal property of the cellular 
substance of sponge. 


BELEM, OR PARA. 

The city of Belem, to which our illustra¬ 
tion refers, is situated at the entrance of one 
of the largest ana-branches of the river Ama¬ 
zon, and in a position to influence greatly the 
future stream of commerce, which will doubt¬ 
less vivify the present boundless wastes and 
impenetrable forests of the interior of South 
America. The capabilities of this quarter of 
the world are at present little known, though 
the public attention of several European coun¬ 
tries has of late been directed to the subject. 
The recent expedition under Sir R. Schom- 
berg, has been followed by one instituted by 
the desire of the French government, not to 
be behind us upon the subject of correct geo¬ 
graphical and general information as regards 
Central South America. From sources such 
as these, we learn that in this neighborhood, 
extensive forests of wild cocoa exist, and no¬ 
where has nature developed her riches in a 
more lavish manner ; it is impossible to ima¬ 
gine the diversity and extreme beauty of the 
trees, and particularly the palms which form 
these forests. The creatures that animate the 
countries are not less remarkable for their sin¬ 
gular forms than the brilliancy of their colors 
—the jaguars, the tapirs, the ant-eaters, the 
tatons, more than twenty species of monkeys, 
birds of the most dazzling hues, couroncous, 
coling is, and parrots, show themselves in every 
part. The former has on its head a singular 
crest, in the shape of a parasol, and the sec¬ 
ond displays in its plumage all that the sun of 
the equator can produce in purple, emerald, 
and gold. These regions also abound in mag¬ 
nificent woods, and produce in abundance 
everything required in ship-building; such as 
birch, hemp, and excellent cordage, made of 
the fibres of the palm-tree, and capable of 


resisting the action of water in a surprising de¬ 
gree. Vanilla is also plentiful, and the Indians 
gather large quantities of wax and resin. The 
forests contain, besides, dye-woods of various 
kinds, and in considerable quantity. 


THE SELF-TORMENTORS. 

There is no situation in life for which 
candidates will not be found to offer them¬ 
selves, no matter how degrading or disgusting 
it may be ; and it is indeed most fortunate 
that there are those whose habits and tastes 
are not too refined for occupations which to 
others would be absolutely appalling, for thus 
no department is left unfilled : the hangman 
is never sought in vain ; the scavenger spends 
his days amidst the filth of the streets, and 
does not hold himself one whit the worse ; 
butchers are not loath to slay; and surgeons 
perform amputations con amove. The ac¬ 
quirement of the means of subsistence stimu¬ 
lates all, and thus the business of the -world is 
conducted with undeviating completeness. 
But there is a class of human beings, and no 
inconsiderable one, who devote themselves to 
hardships, and submit to privations, from mo¬ 
tives wholly apart from the desire to earn a 
livelihood. This is the class of self-torment¬ 
ors. Some of the most extraordinary exam¬ 
ples of these are to be found among the Fakirs, 
who, from their strange tenets respecting the 
Deity, and the sacrifices which they think 
pleasing to him, inflict the most severe tor¬ 
tures on themselves. Some of them make a 
vow to continue for life in one posture ; others 
carry a weary load, or drag a heavy chain, 
from which they have vowed never to disen¬ 
gage themselves. Some have doomed them¬ 
selves to crawl upon their hands and knees for 
a term of years; and others roll their bodies 
along the ground, from the shores of the Indus 
to the banks of the Ganges. Some have con¬ 
demned themselves to swing before a slow 
fire for the remainder of their days; while 
others suspend themselves with their heads 
downward, exposed to the fiercest flames. 
Many of the Hindoo fanatics, pledged by a 
religious vow, are to be found at the villages 
where the ceremony of swinging is observed 
at stated times. It is thus contrived : in the 
centre of an area a pole of from twenty to 
thirty feet high is erected, on which a long 
horizontal beam is fixed, with a rope run over 
a pulley at the extremity; to this rope an 
iron hook is fastened, which being run through 
the integuments of the swinging devotee, he 
is suspended high in the air, a spectacle of 
admiration to the assembled multitude, who 























The City of Belem, or Para, oil the Estuary of the Amazon River, 


















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































252 THE SELF-TORMENTORS. 


testify their approbation by the loudest ac¬ 
clamations : the more violently he swings 
himself round, the more vehement is the ap¬ 
plause : the flesh often gives way, and the 
unfortunate performer is released by a pre¬ 
cipitate fall, very frequently at the expense 
of a broken limb. The voluntary sacrifice of 
the Hindoo widows to the flames is too well 
known to need any description of the ceremo¬ 
ny here. There are many devotees, who, in 
the very prime of life, anxious to propitiate 
the Deity, resolve to bury themselves alive— 
no trifling sacrifice for those who might, in the 
ordinary course of nature, look for a long term 
of years. On the day appointed for the sac¬ 
rifice, crowds assemble, a circular pit in which 
a man can stand upright is then dug, into 
which the self-devoted victim descends ; the 
earth is then thrown over him, until he is com¬ 
pletely covered; a massive tomb is immedi¬ 
ately erected over the spot, where sacred rites 
are performed, and garlands of flowers are 
offered at stated intervals, in memory of the 
holy man who has sealed his devotion by this 
act of self-immolation. 

The self-inflicted cruelties which take place 
at the festival in honor of Siva, a Hindoo god, 
appear almost incredible. The Hindoos who 
are to be the principal actors at the ceremo¬ 
nies, have assumed the name of Sunnyassis, 
and gone through some preparations for ten 
or fifteen days before the exhibition begins. 
On the first day of the festival, they fling 
themselves from a bamboo stage, which has 
three resting-places: the highest is twenty 
feet from the ground : bags of straw, struck 
with iron spikes, have been placed underneath 
to receive them : however, the spikes are so 
arranged, that they generally fall down, in¬ 
stead of entering the body: it sometimes, 
however, happens otherwise, and many per¬ 
sons have been killed and wounded by them. 
In some villagts, several of these stages are 
erected, and two or three hundred have cast 
themselves on the spikes in the course of one 
day. On the third day of the festival there 
is a large fire made, opposite to the temple of 
Siva; and when the burned wood has been 
formed into a great mass, one of the chief 
Sunnyassis flattens it a little with a bunch of 
canes which he holds, and walks over it with 
his feet bare ; the rest of the Sunnyassis then 
spread the fire about, and walk over it, and 
dance upon it, and throw the burning embers 
into the air and at each other. This pastime 
over, the next morning is appropriated to the 
work of piercing the sides and tongues. It is 
thus described by Mr. Ward, who went to 
Kalceghatu, in company with two or three 
friends, in the year 1806, to witness the rites. 

“ We arrived,” he says, “ above five o’clock 
in the morning. We overtook numerous com¬ 


panies who were proceeding thither, having 
with them drums and other instruments of 
music, also spits, canes, and different articles 
to pierce the tongues and sides. Some, with 
tinkling rings on their ankles, were dancing as 
they passed along, while others rent the air 
with sounds of their filthy songs. As we en¬ 
tered the village where the temple of this 
great goddess is situated, the crowds were so 
great, that we could with difficulty get our 
vehicles along, and at last were completely 
blocked up. We then alighted, and went 
among the crowd: but who can describe a 
scene like this? Here, men of all ages, who 
intended to have their tongues pierced or their 
sides bored, were bringing garlands of flowers 
to hang round their necks or tie round their 
heads. There, others carrying their offerings 
to the goddess. Above the crowd were seen 
nothing but the feathers belonging to the great 
drums, and the instruments of torture which 
each victim was carrying in his hand. These 
wretched slaves of superstition were dis¬ 
tinguished from others by the quantity of oil 
rubbed on their bodies, and by streaks and 
dots of mud all over them. Some of the 
chief men belonging to each company were 
covered with ashes, or dressed in a most fan¬ 
tastic manner, like the fool among mounte¬ 
banks.” 

He goes on to describe the operation of 
piercing the tongue. “We went into the 
temple-yard, where two or three blacksmiths 
had begun the work of piercing the tongues 
and boring the sides of these infatuated disci¬ 
ples of Siva. The first man seemed reluctant 
to hold out his tongue; but the blacksmith, 
rubbing it with something like flour, and hav¬ 
ing a piece of cloth between his fingers, laid 
firm hold, dragged it out, and placing his lancet 
under it, in the middle, pierced it through, 
and let the fellow go. The next person whose 
tongue we saw cut directed the blacksmith to 
cut it on a contrary side, as it had already 
been cut twice. This man seemed to go 
through the business of having his tongue slit 
with perfect sang-froid. The company of 
natives were entirely unmoved ; and the black¬ 
smith, pocketing the trifling fee given by each 
for whom he did this favor, laughed at the 
sport. I could not help asking whether 
they were not punishing these men for lying. 
After seeing the operation performed on one 
or two more, we went to another group, where 
they were boring the sides. The first we saw 
undergoing this operation was a boy, who 
might b8 twelve or thirteen years old, and who 
had been brought thither by his elder brother 
to submit to this cruelty. A thread, rubbed 
with clarified butter, was drawn through the 
skin on each side, with a kind of lancet having 
an eye like a needle. He did not flinch, but 

























THE SELF- 


hung by the hands over the shoulders of his 
brother. We asked a man who had just had 
his sides bored why he did this. He said he 
had made a vow to Kalee at a time of danger¬ 
ous illness, and was now performing this vow ; 
a bystander added, it was an act of holiness 
or merit. Passing from this group, we saw 
a man dancing backward and forward, with 
two canes run through his sides as thick as a 
man’s little finger. In returning to Calcutta, 
we saw many with things of different thick¬ 
nesses thrust through their sides and tongues, 
and several with the pointed handles of iron 
shovels, containing fire, sticking in their sides. 
Into this fire, every now and then, they threw 
Indian pitch, which for the moment blazed 
very high. We saw one man whose singular 
mode of self-torture struck us much: his 
oreast, arms, and other parts of his body were 
entirely covered with pins, as thick as nails or 
packing-needles. This is called vanu-j)hora. 
(that is, piercing with arrows). The person 
had made a vow to Siva thus to pierce his 
body, praying the god to remove some evil 
from him. Some Sunnyassis at this festival 
put swords through the holes in their tongues, 
others spears, others thick pieces of round iron, 
which they call arrows; many, as a bravado, 
put other things through their tongues, as liv¬ 
ing snakes, bamboos, ramrods, &c. On the 
evening of this day some Sunnyassis pierce 
the skins of their foreheads, and place a rod 
of iron in it, as a socket, and on this rod fasten¬ 
ed a lamp, which is kept burning all night.” 

Such are a few of the self-inflicted tortures 
borne by those who think that by such the 
wrath of the cruel deity to whom they do 
homage can only be appeased. The details 
of bodily torments inflicted by the victims 
themselves to propitiate his favor are so nu¬ 
merous, that they might fill volumes; but 
these limits are so brief to allow of a more ex¬ 
tended notice of them; and for the present, 
we will turn our attention to other self-tor¬ 
mentors, who are actuated by motives of a 
totally different nature. Such are impostors, 
whose livelihood depends on the alms of the 
charitable, who maim and disfigure themselves 
that they may make a more forcible appeal to 
compassion. It is no uncommon practice with 
them to drive needles into their flesh, thus 
to produce swelling and inflammation, which 
can be displayed on fitting opportunities, and 
turned to profit. 

There was an unfortunate young woman, a 
patient in Richmond hospital, Dublin, who 
had to undergo amputation of the arm, it was 
so dreadfully diseased from needles in the 
flesh. She afterward confessed that she had 
herself forced them into her hand and arm. 
Four hundred needles were extracted from 
different parts of the body of a woman named 


253 


Rachel Hcrz, of Copenhagen ; they had re¬ 
duced her to the most frightful state. It was 
afterward discovered that she had herself in¬ 
serted them purposely. There are others, 
equally impostors, who have been known to 
undergo the most acute bodily anguish with¬ 
out flinching, impelled to it by having grown 
weary of the way of life in which they aie 
engaged, and pining for a return to home and 
friends. Deception under any exigency or 
temptation whatever, is to be held in abhor¬ 
rence ; but certainly a touch of pity must 
mingle with the feelings with which we regard 
it under such circumstances. The hardships 
which the soldier and the sailor are called to 
endure, and the separation from home and 
kindred, must teach us to look with compas¬ 
sion while we blame ; and the tortures which 
they so unhesitatingly undergo, tell a melan¬ 
choly tale of wearisome existence, and of 
heart-yearnings after early scenes, that may 
well suggest to the reflecting mind a hope that 
some improvement in the mode by which their 
services are procured, and the regulations by 
which they are governed, may make such 
guilt, if not impossible, at least of compara¬ 
tively rare occurrence. With the desire of 
being declared unfit for service, they have been 
known to inflict the most serious injuries upon 
their sight, and to mutilate themselves in a 
frightful manner; something cutting off' one or 
more of their fingers, pretending that accident 
had produced the mischief. A woman in 
Dublin actually made a livelihood by selling 
to the recruits a mixture of soft soap and lime, 
which, on being applied as she directed, pro¬ 
duced ulcers. Soldiers, anxious to be free, 
have been known to make an incision in the 
leg, into which a copper coin has been inserted, 
and then bound up. So common was the 
practice among the patients in the military 
hospitals of tampering with their sore legs, to 
prevent their cure, in the hope of procuring 
discharges from the army, that the surgeons 
were frequently obliged to seal the bandages 
with which they bound them ; but this has not 
always succeeded, as the men often force pins 
and needles through the bandages, so that at 
last a box, with lock and key, was found ne¬ 
cessary to keep the leg confined, so that it 
could not be got at till the surgeon went to 
dress it. Soldiers have often broken their 
front teeth, to render it impossible for them to 
bite the cartridges. A deserter who had been 
arrested and put in jail, in the }^ear 1811, sub¬ 
mitted to remain in a state of apparent insen¬ 
sibility from the 5th of April to the 8th of 
July; everything to rouse him that could be 
thought of was tried, but in vain ; he took no 
nourishment but a little that he sucked through 
his teeth, as his jaw was fixed, and could not 
be opened. The medical-people, supposing 

















THE SELF TORMENTORS. 




254 


there was some injury in the head, determined 
on an operation. The scalp was removed, 
that an examination might take place. So 
little did he appear sensible of pain, that a 
very slight groan was the only sign of feeling 
which he gave. His case being considered 
hopeless: he was discharged, and sent home to 
his father. A day or two after, he was seen 
thatching a hayrick! 

There is a still more extraordinary class of 
self-tormentors to be found in those who are 
not excited by a mistaken zeal, or who have 
no chance of restoration to some cherished 
object, or loathing of some forced pursuit; 
but who, as it were, for a mere whim, or a 
sudden pique, consign themselves to lasting 
privations and torments, more difficult, per¬ 
haps, to be borne than bodily pain, because 
more enduring, and to the observance of 
which they adhere with a constancy worthy 
of a better calling. Miss Mary Lydia Lu- 
crine is mentioned in “ Dodsley’s Annual 
Register” for 1778, as “ a maiden lady of 
genteel fortune, who lived in Oxford street, 
London. She had been disappointed in love, 
and made a vow, in consequence thereof, nev¬ 
er to see the light of the sun again. Accord¬ 
ingly, the windows of her apartment were 
closely shut up, and her vow was never broken. 
Another lady, under similar circumstances, and 
condemning herself in like manner, is men¬ 
tioned in the same volume. She, like Mary 
Lydia, was disappointed in her matrimonial 
prospects, and vowed to live shut up from the 
light of the sun; however, very wisely, she 
made herself some slight amends, by occasion¬ 
ally indulging herself with the light of a lamp or 
candle, but she never admitted the rays of the 
sun into her presence again. From the same 
authority, in the volume for 1777, we also find 
the following curious account of the mistress 
of Beau Nash, in the notices of deaths: “Died 
at Bishop’s-view, her native place, near War¬ 
minster, in Wilts, Juliana Papjoy, in the sixty- 
seventh year of her age. In her youth she 
had been the mistress of the famous Nash of 
Bath, and after her separation from him, she 
took to a very uncommon way of life; her 
principal residence she took up in a large hol¬ 
low tree, now standing, within a mile of War¬ 
minster, on a lock of straw, resolving never 
more to lie in a bed; and she was as good as 
her word, for she made that tree her habita¬ 
tion for between thirty and forty years, unless 
when she made short peregrinations to Bath, 
Bristol, and the gentlemen’s houses adjacent; 
she then lay in some barn or outhouse.” Not 
more agreeable was the abode selected by a 
man who lived in Dunstall in Suffolk; he 
might be seen of a day seated on a chair read¬ 
ing the newspaper, in a large cage, which was 
placed in the middle of the town, and in which 


he had lived for upward of thirty-four years, 
never quitting it. He resisted all the en¬ 
treaties of his friends, who endeavored to per¬ 
suade him to change his residence; and, true 
to the character of a genuine self-tormentor, 
he never left Iris strange dwelling-place. The 
cage was just large enough for him to live in, 
and in all respects but size was like the com¬ 
mon cages sold for birds. 

Ill success in love affairs appears to be the 
most frequent cause of extraordinary vows. 
Poor John Baker of Channing, the county of 
Kent, who was born in the year 1700, was 
but a laborer. It was his misfortune to fall 
in love at the early age of sixteen, and she he 
loved “ proved untrue,” whereupon John 
bound himself by a solemn vow never to take 
off’ his clothes, or to go to bed, till he should 
regain the affections of his mistress—a felicity 
to which, alas ! he never attained ; but, in ac¬ 
cordance with his vow, he never took off his 
clothes, or rested himself in bed, for the rest 
of his life, which lasted for forty years. He 
never slept but in a chair or on the ground. 
The neighbors used kindly to put a patch upon 
his clothes when they saw that it was requir¬ 
ed, so that at the time of his death his coat 
was entirely composed of patches of every 
shade and hue. Even in this hasty sketch it 
is marvellous to see what torments have been 
voluntarily endured, what bodily anguish and 
what cruel privations have been perseveringly 
borne. But many as have devoted themselves 
to these tortures, there is a much larger class 
of self-tormentors than those already noticed ; 
and that is, those tormentors w r ho make the 
torturing of their minds the great object of 
life. Among them, the excitement attendant 
on a spectacle which is to draw down the ap¬ 
plause of an admiring crowd does not allure to 
the pursuit; the domestic circle is the favorite 
scene of its unostentatious display. They can 
not boast of the desperate intrepidity with 
which the poor Hindoo casts himself under 
the wheels of the car of Juggernaut, or the 
profound serenity with which the Fakir holds 
up his arm, without motion, till it dies and 
withers away, nor of the patient exertion of 
the devotee who rolls himself along from the 
shores of the Indus to the banks of the Ganges, 
nor of the careless tranquillity with which the 
Sunny assi swings himself uponhishook. Hap¬ 
py, indeed, would it be if, like those who maim 
and excoriate their bodies, or who live apart 
in the hollows of trees, or in the cages hung 
up in the public streets, the mental self-tor¬ 
mentors kept their sufferings to themselves: 
but those who can not he happy without a 
misery , are too generous not to share their en¬ 
joyment with their friends and nearest of kin; 
for it may be observed, that those who suffer 
from imaginary injuries and grievances, draw 













MARRIAGE. 2 55 


more largely on those about them for sympa¬ 
thy than those who labor under real affliction. 
The pangs of the seif-tormentor are many and 
sharp, and produce a constant state of effer¬ 
vescing agony. The forecasting of evil, and all 
the petty annoyances of piques, and affronts, 
and misconceptions, which one word might 
set right; and the mistrust of friendship, and 
the doubts of love, and all the nameless little 
caprices, and suspicions, and jealousies, and 
estrangements, and unreasonable exactions, 
which they engender, if to be touched on, 
would require a chapter, and a long chapter, 
to themselves. In very truth, they are of too 
grave a cast, and the cause of too much dis¬ 
comfort and unhappiness, to be longer dwelt on 
in a spirit of lenity. 


MARRIAGE. 

In nations most primitive and savage, mar¬ 
riage is the unceremonious appropriation of 
one or more females by the right of the strong¬ 
est. We may suppose that the same was the 
case before the dawnings of civilization. But 
very early in the history of our race, we find 
contracts made with certain impressive solem¬ 
nities. Covenants were made memorable by 
an exchange of presents, still a custom among 
barbarous tribes, and the “ know all men by 
these presents,” preserved in forms of law, 
may bear such a meaning. Abraham made 
presents of sheep and oxen; the Phenicians, 
set up a pillar or raised a heap of stones ; the 
Scythians poured wine into a vessel, mixed 
with it the blood of the contracting parties, 
and dipped into it a cimeter, arrows, a jav¬ 
elin, and with imprecations on whomsoever 
should break the agreement, the parties and 
their witnesses drank; the ancient Arabians 
cut their hands, and sprinkled the blood upon 
seven stones, invoking the gods ; the ancient 
Medes and Lycians sucked the blood from 
each other’s arms; the Nasamones drank with 
each other; the Greeks and Romans shook 
hands and swore by the gods, and the tombs 
of their ancestors. 

But the most common pledge of good faith, 
is eating together. This is considered all 
over the world as a pledge of amity. A feast 
is, therefore, one of the earliest and most gen¬ 
eral modes of solemnizing a marriage contract; 
and for ages, and in many countries, it was the 
only one known. Marriage, as a religious 
ordinance or sacrament, has been recognised 
by but a small portion of the human race. It 
was such among the Greeks and Romans, who 
connected religion with all the actions of their 
lives, and invoked the gods in their most sim¬ 
ple and familiar labors and pastimes. 


All nations, of whom we have any histori- J 
cal account, ascribe the regulation of marria¬ 
ges to their first lawgivers. Thus Menes the 
first king of Egypt, is said to have first intro¬ 
duced matrimony, and fixed the laws concern¬ 
ing it; the Greeks attribute the same institu¬ 
tions to Cecrops ; the Chinese to Fo Hi ; the 
Peruvians to Manco Capac ; and the Jews, to 
God himself. Mythology would seem to 
teach monogamy, though "polygamy was oc¬ 
casionally the practice. Thus Jupiter had 
only his Juno; Pluto his Proserpine; Osiris 
his Isis; and the stolen amours of the gods, 
with the jealousies of their wives, point very 
significantly to the idea of confining the rela¬ 
tion to a single couple, in theory, whatever 
irregularities of practice were tolerated. 

But if we look back to the patriarchial 
ages, in the oriental countries, where the high¬ 
est type of humanity is held to have its origin, 
we find polygamy to have existed time out of 
mind, and even in the lifetime of Adam, in 
the antediluvian period. In the early ages, a 
wife was of great consequence and value. 
Her labor was of great use, for from her skill 
in handicraft, men derived shelter, clothing, 
and many of the comforts of their simple life. 
When men were long lived, it was a great 
object to have many children, to take care of 
their flocks and herds, and for a defence 
against aggression. To be well served, there¬ 
fore, and to insure a numerous progeny, men 
took a number of wives, and each wife 
strengthened the patriarch, by securing the 
friendship of the family from which she was 
taken. But as, in the order of Providence, 
men and women were born in nearly equal 
proportions, the demand for women caused a 
price to be set upon them, and the husband 
was obliged to purchase his wife, by paying a 
liberal sum ; and this is still the case in China, 
where customs are petrified, and generally 
over Asia. 

When the price agreed upon was paid, the 
marriage was celebrated with a feast. Laban 
gathered his friends, and bade a marriage feast, 
when he pretended to give Rachel to Jacob, 
for seven years’ labor, and then defrauded him 
by placing Leah in the nuptial bed, instead of 
her more beautiful sister, whom he married 
seven years afterward. Samson, when lie 
married Delilah, gave a feast which lasted 
seven days. The Babylonians carried the 
splendor of their marriage-feasts to such an , 
extravagant and ruinous extent, that they had 
to be restrained by law. Among the Scandi¬ 
navians, the celebration of a marriage, was a 
scene of revelry and drunkenness, frequently 
productive of the most deplorable effects. 
Such was the custom among the Jews in the 
time of Christ, and to this day, and in nearly 
all countries, marriage is celebrated with feast- 












256 CURIOSITIES OF ARITHMETIC. 


inland festivity. The following Jewish form 
of marriage contract, is probably the oldest in 
the world. 

“On such a day, month, and year, A, the 
son of B, has said to D, the daughter of E, 
be thou my spouse, according to a law of Mo¬ 
ses and of the Israelites, and I will give thee 
as a dowry for thy virginity, the sum of two 
hundred suziens, as it is ordered by our law ; 
and the said D hath consented to be his spouse 
upon the conditions aforesaid, which the said 
A doth bind himself and all that he hath, to 
the very cloak upon his back ; engaging him¬ 
self to love, honor, feed, clothe, and protect her, 
and to perform all that is generally implied 
toward Israelitish wives.” 

This was the written form of betrothal, and 
in all respects a civil contract. A simpler 
form was by a verbal agreement, and the pas¬ 
sing of a piece of money before witnesses. 

The ancient Assyrians, in the front rank of 
eastern civilization, at a very early period, 
established laws of marriage, which were of 
a singular character. Once a year they as¬ 
sembled, at a great fair, all the marriageable 
girls of a province, when the public crier put 
them up for sale at public auction. First 
were put up the most beautiful, for whom the 
rich strove against each other, until the com¬ 
petition carried up the price to the highest 
^ point. When one beautiful woman had thus 
been disposed of, one less favored by nature 
was put up, and here the auction was reversed, 
the question was not how much will any one 
give, but how little will any one take, and he 
who bid her oft’ at the lowest dowry took her 
for his wife, so that the price paid for the 
beautiful went to give dowries to the ugly, 
and thus husbands were provided for all. We 
often find nature making such a provision, 
since beauty and fortune are seldom united. 

The great attention paid by the Assyrians 
to matrimony, is further shown by their hav¬ 
ing constituted a special court, or tribunal, 
whose only office was to see that young wom¬ 
en were properly married, and that the laws 
of this relation were observed. 

The custom of purchasing wives, for which 
we have given some reasons, appears to have 
generally prevailed as soon as the rights of 
property began to be respected, and bargained 
and exchanged commodities, instead of taking 
them by force. From the moment property 
was recognised, everything was considered as 
property, even to a man’s wives and children. 
Men bought their wives, sold their daughters, 
and it is supposed, in many cases sold their 
children to service, since slaves were among 
the first articles of property and commerce 
known amongmankind; and the sale of Joseph, 
by his brethren was no extraordinary circum¬ 
stance at that period. The idea of property 


in wives and children has never been lost and 
is fully recognised by our common law, which 
gives an action of damages for adultery and 
seduction. A man who runs away with 
another’s wife is mulcted in so much money, 
and the same for the seduction of a daughter 
—though the legislatures of some of our states 
have recently added other penalties. 

The regulation of the sale of wives by the 
Assyrians, which was an improvement upon 
their sale by parents, since it provided hus¬ 
bands for those who would not otherwise have 
been sought for, was not the only example in 
antiquity, of marriages being conducted by 
the state. The Thracians put up their fairest 
virgins to public sale, for the benefit of the 
government; and the magistrates of Crete 
exercised the sole power of choosing partners 
for their young men ; and in the exercise of 
this power, interest and affection were over¬ 
looked—the good of the state being the only 
object of attention. 


CURIOSITIES OF ARITHMETIC. 

An eastern prince was so much delighted 
with the game of chess, which had been de¬ 
vised for his amusement, that he desired the 
inventor to name his own reward. The phi¬ 
losopher, however, was too modest to seize the 
opportunity of enriching himself; he merely 
begged of his royal master, a grain of corn for 
each square on the chess-table, doubling the 
number in proceeding from the first to the six¬ 
ty-fourth square. The king, honoring his 
moderation, made no scruple of consenting to 
the demand ; but on his treasurer making the 
necessary calculations, he was surprised to 
find that he had engaged to give away the 
impossible quantity of 84,076,425,546 692,656 
grains of corn, or near two hundred milions of 
bushels. 

The story of the horseshoe is of the same 
kind, and like the above, is usually met with 
in books of scientific recreation. A man sel¬ 
ling a fine horse is to receive for him nothing 
more than the value of the twenty-fourth nail 
of the animal’s shoes, supposing that the first 
nail is worth a farthing, the second two, and 
so on doubling each time. The bargain is a 
tolerably good one, since the twenty-fourth 
nail at this rate, proves to be worth eighty 
thousand dollars. 

Among the curiosities of arithmetical ex¬ 
pression, may be mentioned that produced by 
the multiplication of any row of figures, no 
matter how extended, by the figure 9.—The 
product of such a multiplication, when added 
laterally, will invariably be even nines. 
















REV. THOMAS T IM P S O N, 

OF LONDON (ENGLAND), 

HONORARY SECRETARY OF THE BRITISH AND FOREIGN SAILORS’ SOCIETY, AUTHOR OF THE 
u COMPANION TO THE BIBLE,” “THE YOLTIl’S KEY TO THE BIBLE,” “BRITISH ECCLESI¬ 
ASTICAL HISTORY,” “MEMOIRS OF MRS. FRY,” tiC., &C. 


17 



























258 ENGLAND TO AMERICA. 


ENGLAND TO AMERICA. 

ADDRESS OF REV. MR. TIMPSON. 

We have much pleasure in presenting to 
our readers a correct and faithful portrait of 
the Rev. Thomas Timpson, of London, the 
author of many valuable works, and the 
founder of various benevolent movements in 
that great emporium. His address to the 
citizens of the United States, will be found 
an invaluable document, and well worthy of 
a careful perusal, by every lover of his race. 
Every document like the present adds, as it 
were, another link between the United States 
and the parent land, tending greatly to strength¬ 
en, perpetuate, and cement those good feelings 
which now subsist between our respective na¬ 
tions. 

The Rev. Mr. Timpson has enlarged so 
eloquently on the blessings of a “ union of the 
two countries,” which must, in all probability, 
continue to grow out of an increased inter¬ 
course between them, as to leave us little room 
for remark. But we feel desirous to add our 
humble testimony respecting the navigation 
of the ocean by steam. The idea of a “ fly¬ 
ing bridge” across the wide Atlantic, was only a 
few years ago deemed an impossibility. Now 
we have a weekly communication with the 
old world, and additional steamers are in prog¬ 
ress of building. The enthusiastic reception 
our first American steamer met with at South¬ 
ampton and Bremen, where all classes vied 
with each other in doing her honor, sufficient¬ 
ly indicates that our brethren abroad are equal¬ 
ly alive with ourselves to the incalculable 
benefits arising from our ocean-steamers on 
both sides. Like a weaver’s shuttle, may 
they continue to pass to and fro across the 
Atlantic, weaving a web of forgiveness, love, 
and friendship, between the two nations. 

London (Lewisham), Dec. 16, 1847. 

To Robert Sears, Esq. — And the Wor¬ 
thy Citizensof the United Slates of America :— 

“ During about half a century, from my 
childhood, I have felt an intense interest in 
your great and celebrated country ; and that 
interest has been much heightened and in¬ 
creased from the first by all that I have since 
heard and read of the history of its discovery, 
the principles of its early colonists, the es¬ 
tablishment of its independence, and the un¬ 
exampled progress of America, as indeed a 
4 New World.’ But, for many of the latter 
years, my mind has been more closely drawn 
to your people by various considerations. 
Among these are, their descent, chiefly, from 
my own forefathers in Britain; the identity 
of our origin, our language, our institutions, 
and our divine religion ; from the fact of many 
of my own friends having settled in your 


country; from personal acquaintance with 
some of your learned ministers of the gospel; 
from correspondence with others ; from the 
writings of your divines; and especially from 
the honor which your people have done me in 
republishing several of my volumes for their 
edification in things relating to the Holy 
Scriptures. I must not omit to notice, partic¬ 
ularly, my 4 Bible Companion,’ with an 4 In¬ 
troduction by the Rev. Dr. S. Tyng, of New 
York.’ 

“At present, however, my design is not to 
dwell on either of these topics, but to frame 
an appeal to your whole people, to cherish that 
spirit of union between our two nations, which 
will benefit the entire human family, and secure 
to all the blessing of God. My desire is to 
assure the American people of the interest 
cherished by my countrymen in the welfare of 
America, and to excite, or rather to promote a 
spirit of mutual and fraternal regard and unfail¬ 
ing confidence between Britain and America. 
It is true, that several classes in this kingdom 
look across the Atlantic through different me¬ 
dia; but all with profound admiration of your 
people, and the highest anticipations of their 
future glory. And as I have the means of 
knowing their views, I may briefly advert to 
the more important classes, severally, with 
some degree of propriety. 

“1. British Merchants. — These may 
justly be supposed to have a peculiar interest 
in the prosperity of America. Such is the 
fact. A large number of this influential class 
there are in Britain, whose wealth has prin¬ 
cipally been derived from the American trade. 
My earliest notions of mercantile affairs are 
identified with honored men who were engaged 
in important transactions with America. I 
need only mention the names of Baring and 
Brown, and our Alexander Baring, now the 
Right Honorable Lord Ashburton, and his 
special mission to your government, in forming 
a recent treaty, to prove the deep interest that 
is taken in the welfare of America by British 
merchants. 

“2. British Manufacturers. — Thou¬ 
sands of these, in different districts of our coun¬ 
try, look to America with the utmost solicitude 
for its peace and progress, as individually inter¬ 
ested in the prosperity of its people. 1 am a 
native of Birmingham , that vast centre of 
British ingenuity and mechanical skill, and 
intimately acquainted with the feelings that 
pervade the gredt body of manufacturers in 
iron, steel, brass, japan, silver, gold, glass, 
porcelain, silk, cotton, wool, &c., &c., toward 
your country. Regarding it, therefore, sim¬ 
ply as a place of consumption and demand for 
their endlessly-diversified productions, their 
most ardent wishes are breathed forth for your 
onward progress and unlimited greatness. 











ENGLAND TO AMERICA. 259 


“3. British Statesmen. —Our senators, 
as a body, are persons of liberal education, 
possessing extensive information and expanded 
minds ; and from their knowledge of our na¬ 
tional resources, of our incalculable mineral 
riches, and of the indefatigable industry of our 
artisans, they can not fail to entertain the con¬ 
viction of the sound policy of our friendly al¬ 
liance and mercantile intercourse with Amer¬ 
ica. I need only refer to the late most grati¬ 
fying visit to your country of a nobleman, who 
is now an active member of the queen’s gov¬ 
ernment. Intelligent and benevolent as was 
Lord Viscount Morpeth’s regard for the 
United States before his visit to America, it 
has been much increased by the cordial wel¬ 
come he received from your citizens, and by 
the discovery of the real greatness of your 
Union. And his concern for a closer alliance 
between the two countries, is shared bv his 
colleagues in the government ; and, as is 
manifest, by every public character in Great 
Britain. 

“ 4. British Christian Ministers_ 

These of every denomination throughout the 
British isles, feel the liveliest interest in the 
progress of religion in America. They look 
upon the grand army of nearly twenty thou¬ 
sand of the faithful ministers of Christ, labor¬ 
ing in every part of the extensive Union—a 
noble band of whom we delighted to see at our 
evangelical alliance—many of them profound¬ 
ly learned, and possessing the rarest talents 
and the most exalted virtues—and a goodly 
host of them occupied in important missionary 
enterprise among the heathen—they reflect 
upon them with admiration of the grace of 
God our Savior, and cherish gratitude on their 
account, for his sovereign gifts and the bles¬ 
sings of his Holy Spirit.—These they look 
upon as the hope of America. 

“5. British Theologians. — America, 
though comparatively a young country, has 
reason to glory in the number of her learned 
orthodox divines. Many of their volumes are 
venerated in Britain. President Edwards, 
Davies, Dwight, Alexander, Hodges, Barnes, 
Bush, Mason, Robinson, Sprague, Spring, 
Stuart, and many others of distinguished em¬ 
inence, are held in deserved honor in England 
and Scotland by those of the highest reputa¬ 
tion in the churches of Christ. The fruitful¬ 
ness of the United States in the useful labors 
of their excellent divines, more than on other 
accounts, unites to them the hearts of the best 
men in Great Britain, in the sacred bonds of 
Christianity. 

“ 6. British Philanthropists. —A gen¬ 
erous band of these are found in Great Britain, 
whose ‘charity begins at home,’ but does not 
end there. America has very largely engaged 
their warmest sympathies. They see in that 


mighty confederation of the states, a vast field 
for the exercise of philanthropy; and they 
cherish it with the utmost ardor. I need only 
mention the sacred breathings of my late valued 
friend, Joseph John Gurney, Esq., brother of 
my late venerated colleague and fellow-labor¬ 
er, Elizabeth Fry, whose names, and the fruits 
of whose philanthropy, are imperishable.— 
Every British philanthropist is prepared to 
subscribe to the declaration of the amiable 
Gurney, as he published it in America, in 
1839, and in England in 1840, on his return 
from his visit of three years to the "West In¬ 
dies and America: ‘ I heartily desire to cul¬ 
tivate peace and good will among all mankind; 
and though I am no American citizen , I ad¬ 
mire the federal union of this great 

COUNTRY, AND CORDIALLY DESIRE ITS UN¬ 
BROKEN PERMANENCE, AND CONTINUED AND 
INCREASED PROSPERITY.’ 

“British philanthropists feel interested in all 
the reforms, &c., going on in America. They 
believe that if British and American Chris¬ 
tians do their duty, the boy is at school who 
will live to see half the human family speak¬ 
ing the English language, and half the habita¬ 
ble surface of the globe covered with the 
Anglo-Saxon race, and blessed with its civili¬ 
zation. The railroad engines that shall thun¬ 
der through the heart of Asia, Africa, and the 
American continent, will speak and teach the 
English language, and so will the mounted 
lightnings on the highways and wire bridges 
of thought that shall be erected for the con¬ 
verse of the world’s extremes. Let us lay 
hold of the hopeful side of all vexed questions, 
and follow those things that make for peace, 
remembering that ‘ God has made of one blood 
all the children of men, to dwell on all the face 
of the earthlet us bury and forget all past 
animosities, and, in our respective nations, do 
everything in our power to promote the litera¬ 
ry and religious instruction of all classes, with¬ 
out distinction. Let virtue and merit be the 
only test of character, and all be invested with 
the right of citizenship on equal terms; let 
every civil prize, every useful employment, 
every honorable station, be thrown open to the 
poor as well as the rich. Let us encourage, 
and never depress, the natural desire to 
rise. If this be done, every man would rest 
on his own responsibility. Character, like 
other things, would find its natural level; 
light and truth would spread without ob¬ 
struction ; and the great North American Union 
would afford to an admiring world, a splendid 
and unsullied evidence of the truth of that 
mighty principle on which the constitution is 
founded, ‘ All men are created equal, and 
are endowed by the Creator with certain in¬ 
alienable RIGHTS-LIFE, LIBERTY, AND 

THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS.’ 












2130 LITERATURE OF CHINA. 


“Sufficient is here testified, on which to 
found my appeal to the people of America, to 
enter, with all their hearts, into an indissolu¬ 
ble compact of friendship and alliance with us 
Britons. God has rendered us worthy of their 
esteem, attachment, and confidence. Such 
an alliance, founded in virtue and benevolence, 
and sanctified by Christianity, will assuredly 
bless both the contracting parties. From 
America and Britain it will bless the whole 
world, and secure the blessing of Almighty 
God, the Father of all Nations. 

Coi.umbia, child of Britain—noblest child! 

1 praise the glowing lustre of thy worth. 

And fain would see thy great heart reconciled 
To love the mother of so blest a birth; 

For wo are one. Columbia ! still the same 
In lineage, language, laws, and ancient fame, 

The natural nobility of earth ; 

Yes, we are one, the glorious days of yore 

When dear old England earned her storied name 
Are thine, as well as ours, for evermore; 

And thou hast rights iti Milton, even as we— 

Thou too canst claim ‘sweet Shakspere’s wood- 
notes wild,' 

And chiefest, brother, we are both made free, 

Of one religion, pure and undefiled ! 

“ 1 I blame thee not. as other some have blamed—• 
The high-born heir hath grown to man’s estate; 

I mock thee not. as some who should be shamed, 

Nor ferret out thy faults with envious hale ; 

Far otherwise, by generous love inflamed, 

Patriot, I praise thy country’s foreign son, 
Rejoicing in the blaze of good and gieat 
That diadems thy head ; go on. go on ! 

Young Hercules, thus travelling in might. 

Boy Plato, fi ling all the we-t with 1 ght. 

Thou new Themistocles of enterprise, 

Go on and prosper—Acolyte of fate! 

And—precious child, dear Ephraim—turn those 
eyes— 

For thee thy mother’s yearning heart doth wait.’ 

“With ardent prayers for the accomplish¬ 
ment of these grand objects, I remain, a Brit¬ 
ish lover of America, 

“Thomas Timpson.” 


LITERATURE OF CHINA. 

If there is any one thing which more than 
another elevates the Chinese character, it is 
their literary institutions. In letters and edu¬ 
cation China takes the first rank among heathen 
nations. 

There are few countries in which education 
is so widely diffused as in China; but it fails 
to produce its due improvement on the mind 
from the fact that it is pursued for the pur¬ 
pose of obtaining office, literary eminence be¬ 
ing the only path to political distinction. Ed¬ 
ucation is consequently rarely bestowed upon 
females; and few, if any, of the other sex 
pursue knowledge for its own sake. 


Chinese Names. —A child’s first name is 
given when about a month old. This is called 
the milk-name; and is usually some trifling 
epithet, as the name of a flower for girls, and 
of some distinguished virtue for boys. This 
name is dropped when the child grows up. 

The children associate together till they are 
about eight years old, when the boys are sent 
to school, and the girls kept secluded in the 
house. When a boy enters school, he re¬ 
ceives another name, called the book-name , 
which is conferred with much ceremony, and 
which he afterward retains. In the family, 
however, he is often called familiarly by his 
milk-name. 

Persons engaged in business have what is 
called a shop-name , not putting their own 
proper names on their stores. This shop-name 
is somewhat analogous to our names for hotels; 
consisting sometimes of such phrases as “mu¬ 
tual advantage,” “ abundant profits,” &c. A 
man’s last name is given to him after his death, 
on account of his moral qualities, and is equiv¬ 
alent to the epitaphs on our tombstones. 

Education of Children. —Wealthy fam¬ 
ilies prefer to educate their children at home, 
and sometimes two or three families will unite 
and en^affe the services of a teacher. In such 
case the daughters are sometimes instructed; 
and perhaps nine tenths of all the educa¬ 
ted females in China obtained their learning 
under such circumstances. “ There is not,” 
said Mr. Williams, “as far as I know, a single 
girls’ school in Canton.” 

At the door of the school is a tablet in honor 
of Confucius, to which the scholars bow as 
they enter, and sometimes offer incense. The 
masters are as severe as in any country. The 
first task is to learn the characters. The boys 
learn to form the characters by tracing them 
with a pencil on paper which is thin enough 
for the characters to show through. They 
learn the names of the characters by standing 
up in a class before the teacher, who reads 
off the first six characters in the hooks, and 
they repeat them after him; six more are then 
gone over in the same way, and the boys are 
then sent to their seats to learn them by heart, 
twelve being considered enough for one lesson. 
As they always study aloud, they make not a 
little noise over their tasks. When they have 
committed the first twelve characters to mem¬ 
ory, they recite them to the teacher, who 
gives them twelve more, and so on, till they 
have gone through the whole book, which 
contains two hundred and seventy-six lines, of 
six characters each. During all this time they 
are entirely ignorant of the meaning of what 
they have learned, knowing nothing but the 
names of the characters. In every school 
they always begin with the same book; and 
when this is finished they go through a second 












LITERATURE OF CHINA. 


2G1 


book, which contains a thousand characters; 
after which the teacher gives his pupils some 
idea of what they have been reading in the 
first book. In this way they go through their 
nine classics, the whole of which are learned 
by heart; but neither history, geography, 
natural philosophy, religion, nor arithmetic, 
is taught in the schools. 

Literary Examinations —These are 
peculiar to China. They are four in number, 
and progressive in degree. The first examina¬ 
tion takes place in the town or village, and all 
persons are eligible as candidates. Those 
who pass this trial are said to have “ a name 
in the village.” 

The second examination is held in the dis¬ 
trict town, before the literary chancellor. All 
in the district who were successful at the first 
examination are eligible for the second ; and 
sometimes as many as thirty or forty thousand 
students are collected on these occasions at 
Canton. The examination last three days, 
and on each day a theme is given on which 
the candidates are to write an essay. The 
successful candidates receive the first literary 
degree. 

The third examination is held in the pro¬ 
vincial town every third year, and is open to 
all the students in the province who have re¬ 
ceived the first degree. Two examiners are 
sent from Pekin, who, with the literary chan¬ 
cellors, form a board of twelve examiners. 
In the place of examination are several thou¬ 
sand small cells. The competitors give their 
names, age, lineage, &c., and are carefully 
searched to see that they have not secreted 
any copy of the classics about them. They 
are then furnished with writing materials, and 
shut up separately in small cells for two days, 
during which time they are required to com¬ 
pose essays and poems on given subjects. 
The same subjects are given to all the can¬ 
didates, and each is expected to use at least 
two hundred characters in his composition. 
At Canton there will sometimes be seven thou¬ 
sand candidates at this examination, of whom 
only seventy-two can be successful, the di¬ 
plomas being limited to that number. 

To read and determine the merits of seven 
thousand essays on the same subject is a tedi¬ 
ous and laborious work ; but sometimes the 
examiners lighten their task by passing over 
many of the essays without reading. A stu¬ 
dent who suspected this, once wrote an essay 
severely criminating the chancellor, knowing 
that if it were read he should be called to ac¬ 
count for it. He heard nothing of it, how¬ 
ever, and rightly concluding it had never been 
read, he published it; and the result was that 
the officer was discharged. Bribery is often 
effectual in procuring a favorable award from 
the examiners: but not to such an extent as 


entirely to vitiate the benefits of the examina¬ 
tion. 

The names of the candidates to whom the 
degree is awarded are announced at midnight 
from one of the watch-towers, and placarded 
next morning over the city. The candidates 
themselves are honored with a feast in the 
governor’s palace, and afterward receive the 
congratulations of their friends. 

Unsuccessful candidates are allowed to try 
again at subsequent examinations, as long as 
they please; and there have been instances 
of father, son, and grandfather, appearing as 
competitors at the same time. 

The fourth examination takes place at Pe¬ 
kin ; and all who have passed the previous 
examinations are allowed to compete. The 
manner of proceeding is similar to that pursued 
in examining for the second degree. Those 
who are successful receive the third degree, 
and are eligible for important offices; but it is 
said that in the distribution of honors and offi¬ 
ces the Mantchous are more favored than the 
Chinese. 

The fourth degree is an office of itself. 
Those who obtain it reside at the court; and 
by this policy the men of the greatest talents 
are collected at the capital, where they can 
be best directed and controlled. The empe¬ 
ror’s son passes through these examinations 
the same as other persons. 

Effects of this Plan.— The benefit of 
this system of examinations is, that it excites 
the mass of the people to apply themselves to 
learning, and keeps 4 up a high standard of 
literature, as the books they are required to 
study are the best in the language; and to 
have any chance of success, they are com¬ 
pelled to make themselves so thoroughly ac¬ 
quainted with their contents that they can 
never forget them. Those who are not suc¬ 
cessful in reaching the highest degree have not 
spent their time in vain, as they generally ob¬ 
tain situations as schoolmasters, government 
clerks, &c. 

Among the evils of the system may be 
mentioned, that the plan of carrying every 
student in the empire through the same routine 
of ancient lore, and burdening his memory with 
it, destroys the power of invention, and begets 
a blind admiration of antiquity, so that the 
people of China neither hope nor desire to be 
any wiser than their fathers; a mental uni¬ 
formity pervades them; the lapse of centuries 
brings little or no intellectual advancement, 
the minds of the whole people continuing to 
run in a sort of railroad track after Confucius, 
who though he flourished as far back as the 
time of Ezra, yet exerts perhaps a greater in¬ 
fluence over his fellow-men than any other 
man we have ever heard of. 

Tiie Literature of China is very ex- 









262 LITERATURE OF CHINA. 


tensive, though it can not be said to contain 
much that would repay the study of foreigners. 
The most celebrated writings are the nine 
volumes already referred to, and which may 
be regarded as their sacred books. They are 
called the Five Classics and the Four Books , 
and are chiefly written by Confucius. They 
contain, among other things, the early history 
of the empire, and abundance of moral pre¬ 
cepts, minute directions for human conduct 
from childhood and upward. Many of the 
latter would appear to us childish and trifling, 
hut not so to the Chinese, who are taught to 
revere and govern themselves by them. 

Of historians they have many, and their 
works are very voluminous. They have only 
two or three distinguished poets; but are very 
fond of making poetry, as an amusement. A 
person at the table will give out a subject, and 
each of the company will write verses upon 
it. Their poetry is mostly in heptameter, the 
character of their language not allowing the 
variety of metres that we make use of. Some¬ 
times they will adopt a very artificial style, 
making all the words in aline end in the same 
sound; the number of characters having the 
same sound affording great facility for this 
kind of composition. Novels are very abun¬ 
dant, and some of them very licentious. 

Chinese Proverbs. —The Chinese are 
very fond of aphoristic proverbs and sayings. 
Mr. Williams repeated many of these, from 
which we select the following as specimens:— 

“ Never climb a tree tq catch a fish.” 

“ Win a cat, and lose a cow” (ridiculing the 
folly of going to law for trifles). 

“ Good iron is not used for nails, nor are 
soldiers made of good men.” 

“Ivory does not come from a rat’s mouth.” 

“An avaricious man is like a serpent wish¬ 
ing to swallow an elephant.” 

“ Two skins can not be stripped from one 
cow” (meaning that there is a limit to extor¬ 
tion). 

“To instigate a villain to do wrong is like 
teaching a monkey to climb trees.” 

“The chick will come out of the eeV’ 
(equivalent to our “ murder will out.”) 

“ Exaggeration paints a serpent, and adds 
legs.” 

“ All that a fish drinks goes out at its gills,” 
(applied to a spendthrift). 

“A blustering fellow is like a paper tiger.” 

“Dig a well before you are thirsty.” 

“ Let every man sweep the snow from his 
own door, and not busy himself about the frost 
on his neighbor’s tiles.” 

Chinese Language. —The Chinese is the 
only modern language in which the characters 
do not represent sounds. The whole number 
of characters in their dictionaries is upward 
of forty thousand ; but as many of them are 


obsolete, or duplicates, the actual number is 
not more than thirty thousand. They may 
be arranged under the following classes:— 

Imitative symbols , which bear some resem¬ 
blance to the things they are designed to rep¬ 
resent. 

Indicative symbols , in which something in 
the form of the character indicates its mean¬ 
ing ; as a dot under a line signifies “ beneath 
a triangle, “unity;” a stroke drawn through 
a square signifies “the middle,” or “to di¬ 
vide.” 

Combined symbols , the symbols for fire and 
surround, when united, signify “ to roast.” 
An eye with legs under it means “to see.” 
A child in the house signifies “letters,” be¬ 
cause learning requires long study in a house. 

There are olsoinverted and syllabic symbols, 
but their number is not large. 

All the characters in the language may be 
resolved into two hundred and fourteen radi¬ 
cals. The greatest number of strokes in any 
one character is forty-seven. The number 
of characters in actual use is not more than 
ten thousand. 

[Mr. Medhurst says that by a careful colla¬ 
tion of an historical novel in twenty volumes, 
and of the Chinese version of the .Scriptures, 
it appears that the whole amount of characters 
used in both does not much exceed three thou¬ 
sand different sorts.] 

There are several dialects in China, hut as 
their written language represents things, and 
not sounds, it may be perfectly intelligible to 
persons who could not understand one anoth¬ 
er’s speech. In this respect it resembles our 
figures, or characters to represent numbers, 
which are as intelligible to a Frenchman or a 
Spaniard as to us; yet each in speaking would 
designate the numbers by words which we 
could not understand. The Japanese, Mant- 
clious, and Chinese, can understand one another 
when they write, although their spoken lan¬ 
guages are very different. 

The variety of spoken dialect in China are 
rather perplexing to travellers, who find it ne¬ 
cessary to learn the court dialect, which is 
understood by some persons in all parts of the 
country. 

Books. —Books in China are very abundant 
and cheap; but the charge for almanacs, dic¬ 
tionaries, and topographical works, is higher 
than for other books. They are printed from 
wooden blocks, on each of which a page of 
the matter has been cut. These blocks will 
give three thousand impressions before they 
are so worn as to require retouching. Their 
paper is very thin, and printed only on one 
side. The top, bottom, and back of the vol¬ 
ume, are cut, but in front the folds ore left 
uncut, so that the blank sides of the leaves arc 
not seen. The books are merely stitched 

— ■ ■■ —- 1 -- 







Chinese Bookseller. 


















































































































































































































































































r———— — — ....... . . - ---- 

264 SAINT PETERSBURG. 


through, and have no stiff cover, or durable 
binding, like ours; consequently they do not 
last long: and very few old books are to be 
seen. 

The Chinese begin their books at what we 
should call the last page; and the lines go 
down instead of across the page. 

The Chinese do not write with pens, but 
with sable pencils. Their escritoire is made 
of a piece of polished marble, in the ends of 
which are holes for the cakes of ink, and for 
water: the cake of ink is moistened and 
rubbed against the marble until it becomes 
liquid and fit for use. The brush, ink, paper, 
and marble, are designated by a simple word 
which signifies the four 'precious things. 

The Chinese bookseller, as represented in 
our engraving, has no store, but carries his 
books about with him. 


SAINT PETERSBURG, 

No greater or nobler merely human task 
was ever undertaken, than that with which 
Peter the Great charged himself, when the 
death of his brother called him to the throne. 
It was to civilize the barbarous race over 
whom he was called to rule. To fit himself 
for this purpose, he left his kingdom and trav¬ 
elled into western Europe, to observe and 
study the progress there made. In Holland, 
especially, did he learn what triumphs the art 
and genius of man can acquire over nature 
itself. Wishing for a navy, he there became 
a practical ship-builder, and returned to his 
home determined to rear a second Amsterdam 
among the frozen waters of the northern Bal¬ 
tic. Men of genius and skill were taken free¬ 
ly into his service. 

The gulf of Constadt appeared to him, from 
the size and depth of the Neva at its mouth, 
suitable to his designs, and he determined to 
make it a mercantile and naval station. To 
protect this establishment a fortress was con¬ 
structed on an island formed by the two arms 
of the Neva. Then on the left bank of the 
grand Neva was reared the Admiralty , and 
then the wooden palace. With Amsterdam 
as the model in his eye, he now determined 
on the site of his future city, the foundation 
of which was laid in Wassili-Ostroff, an island 
formed by the large and smaller Neva. Canals 
were dug, and wooden houses were erected on 
it. As the difficulties of the project increased, 
so did the determination of the czar. More 
canals were dug and drains made to rid it of 
the water which stagnated in it, until finally 
streets having taken the place of the canals, 
Wassili-Ostroff is now one of the finest quar¬ 
ters of St. Petersburg. 


Now did the genius of Peter lead him to lay 
out a plot of his new city on a scale suitable 
to the capital of his vast empire. Both banks 
of the Neva were lined with marshes. To 
enable them to bear the weight of the superb 
edifices he contemplated, they must be thor¬ 
oughly reclaimed and drained. It was an 
herculean task, worthy of such a monarch. 
Streets of great width, large and superb squares 
were traced out, and the northern capital was 
to be the admiration of Europe. The seat of 
government located there, the nobility and 
courtiers naturally flocked thither, and it was 
easy to predict the brilliant future which await¬ 
ed the city of the marshes. 

Viewed in connexion with the rest of the 
empire, no capital in Europe is so badly lo¬ 
cated. It is in a distant and remote corner, 
situated on a marsh of Ingira, in the sixtieth 
degree of north latitude. The climate is most 
severe, the adjacent country desert, sterile and 
unhealthy—no other man would probably have 
thought of rearing a capital in such a position. 
But Peter just then was Dutch-mad. He had 
the Holland mania on him, and Amsterdam in 
the midst of its dikes and canals was prefera¬ 
ble in his eyes to the splendid locations of 
many other great Europeans cities. The po¬ 
sition of St. Petersburg and the wretched 
country around it, renders its inhabitants de¬ 
pendent upon remote provinces for a large por¬ 
tion of their provisions. As a maritime posi¬ 
tion, too, it is most wretched, as the Neva, on 
which it is located, is frozen steadily during 
six months of the year, so that vessels bound 
from it on voyages of any, even moderate dis¬ 
tance, are obliged to leave late in the season 
and return early; they can, moreover, only 
go out with easterly winds, and those from 
the west prevail chiefly during the summer; 
while the soft water of the Neva is very prej¬ 
udicial to them. 

Add to this the dreadful ravages which are 
constantly made by the breaking up of the ice 
in the Neva, and the numerous destructive 
fires, resulting from the immense number of 
wooden buildings, used in preference in con¬ 
sequence. of the severity of the climate, and 
we have a catalogue of drawbacks against the 
location of this memorable city. Peter wish¬ 
ed, however, to force a people, who are not by 
nature maritime, to become so. In this re¬ 
spect, like all other attempts to force things 
out of their natural channel, and in opposition 
to those immutable laws which Providence 
has wisely ordained for the government of the 
human race, he failed. 

In his determination to un-Russianize the 
Russians, Peter acted wisely in removing his 
capital from Moscow. So long as that great 
and “holy city” remained the capital of the 
empire, he must have found insurmountable 








SAINT PETERSBURG. 265 


obstacles in removing the prejudices of his 
people. It is much easier to change the char¬ 
acter of men by removing them to other places, 
than to effect it in the spot in which all their 
early prejudices have been born and grown. 
Ilis first attempt was of course on the higher 
classes, and through them gradually on their 
dependants. In this view of the case some 
removal was as wise as necessary in this case. 
But should St. Petersburg have been the spot? 

Its distance from the centre of the empire 
and its vicinity to the frontier, answer no. 
Had the seat of government been more in the 
heart of the empire, so that the government 
could have been earlier apprized of his move¬ 
ments, the rebel Pontgatscheff', the false Peter 
III., would not, at the head of his insurgent peas¬ 
antry, have been enabled for a time to sweep 
all opposition before him, and cause Catherine 
II. to tremble for life and throne. Its vi¬ 
cinity to the frontier rendered it in 1790, al¬ 
most a prey to the Swedes, who disembarked 
within five miles of the city. There is noth¬ 
ing to prevent a superior naval power from at 
any time giving great disquietude to the city. 

We have spoken of the inundations of the 
Neva. We will briefly glance at several of 
the most striking. Mention is made of them 
from the earliest times. On the 5th of No¬ 
vember, 1715, the whole city was under wa¬ 
ter. On the same day in 1721, an inundation 
which filled the lower part of the city to the 
depth of seven feet four inches occurred. In 
the upper parts of the city the water was up to 
the breasts of the horses. The czar, who was 
at a ball at the English embassador’s, regained 
his palace with great difficulty. Inundations 
also eccurred twice in 1726, in 1729, 1732, 
1736, 1744, 1752 (in which year the waters 
rose to over eight feet in the lower part of the 
city, and remained so for eight days), in 1757, 
1762, and 1777. This last was the most for¬ 
midable of the eighteenth century. It occurred 
on the 16th of September, during the night, 
and by six o’clock in the morning had raised 
the waters in the streets to a depth of over ten 
feet. They passed all through the city in 
boats, large vessels were driven up in the 
streets, and one of considerable size rested on 
the steps of the winter palace—a very large 
number of lives were lost, and much property 
destroyed. 

We pass by several others of minor import¬ 
ance, more or less destructive, however, to 
note the great one which occurred on the 7th 
of November, 1824. The waters of the Neva 
had been swollen by copious rains, and on that 
day overflowed their banks. The capital was 
soon under water to the depth of many feet, 
which, agitated by the fury of the wind, re¬ 
sembled in the streets of the city the waves 
of the ocean. Vessels were driven through ! 


the streets; and so sudden was the inunda¬ 
tion, that very many were surprised by it in 
the streets, who, unable to escape by climbing 
to the nearest resting-places, Avere drowned. 

Four hundred and eighty persons were official¬ 
ly announced to have perished, which was, 
however, believed to be short of the mark. 
Four hundred and sixty-two houses were en¬ 
tirely destroyed, three thousand six hundred 
and eighty damaged. Three thousand six 
hundred head of cattle were drowned ; and at 
the customhouse property to the value of 
several millions of roubles was totally lost. 
Since then there have been several inundations, 
but none so destructive. The most and worst 
of these occurred from the violence of the 
west wind, in meeting the waters of the river 
swollen with heavy rains, and forcing them 
back toward their source. To this casualty, 
against which no human power can guard, St. 
Petersburg is always liable. 

The climate of this city in winter is what 
its latitude indicates. Its coldness and hu¬ 
midity require the utmost care to guard against 
its influences. The thermometer indicates a 
range so low as to be almost incredible that 
civilized man should have voluntarily selected 
it for a residence. The rich, whose houses 
are warmed constantly to a summer heat, and 
who never expose themselves, if they can 
avoid it, unless entirely muffled in furs, do 
not suffer from it, as do the poor. The nights 
are frightful. The boutechuiks (inferior po¬ 
lice agents) and sentries are sometimes found 
frozen to death. The exposure of the least 
part of the body is dangerous. Individuals 
are constantly seen gravely rubbing each 
other’s frozen nose or cheek with snow, to pre¬ 
vent it from becoming gangrened. Thus with¬ 
out, all is ice, cold; within, the stifling heat 
of the stove. No air can be inhaled in out¬ 
door exercises during that greater portion of j: 
the year in which St. Petersburg is buried 
several feet deep in snow and ice. The prin¬ 
cipal topic of conversation is the weather, and ) 
thermometers are studied with an assiduity , ■' 
which renders a sojourner in St. Petersburg 
an adept in them. „ \ 

One of the most curious spectacles afforded 
by St. Petersburg at this season, is the mar¬ 
ket for frozen provisions. Housekeepers lay 
in their stock for the season. All that is bought 
is frozen, and it is to be kept in the same state. 

It is curious to see around you numerous dead 
bodies, having the appearance of petrified ani¬ 
mals. Oxen, sheep, lambs, calves, pork, game, 
all are reduced to the stiffness of marble, and 
when a piece is to be cut off', it is done by the 
hatchet. The supply taken home is buried j: 
in the snow, and thawed when required for 
use. 

The greatest curse which can befall St. 


\ 













SELF-GOVERNMENT. 


266 


Petersburg d tiring this season, is a thaw. By 
it provisions are destroyed, and the capital 
dependent on distant provinces for a supply* 
is threatened with a famine. The roads, too, 
become such as to forbid any hope of immedi¬ 
ate assistance. The effect of this rise of tem¬ 
perature, by melting the upper crust of the 
snow, is to render the streets almost impassa¬ 
ble, and when the final and general thaw 
takes place in the spring, you are reminded in 
wading through them of the original marshes 
out of which they sprung. 

The aspect of St. Petersburg is grand and 
imposing. It may be called, however, like a 
large portion of its inhabitants, always in uni¬ 
form, always under arms. Its regularity, its 
immense palaces, its immeasurable squares, its 
streets laid out by a line, its masses of stone and 
granite, always fill the mind with surprise and 
admiration. It wants, however, that variety 
which is the great charm of some of the older 
European cities. The immense scale on which 
everything is laid out, deprives it of that life, 
which is the charm of many other capitals. 
In the quarters of the city and the streets, which 
are remote from the haunts of promenaders 
and of business, a dulness which may be felt 
reigns. In this respect it resembles, but on a 
large scale, many portions of our sister-city, 
New York. It has been likened by a likely 
French writer to Versailles, on a large scale, 
but Versailles as it now is, empty, pompously 
insignificant, and majestically insipid; not 
Versailles as it existed in the times of Louis 
XIV., with its thousands of courtiers and 
populace of lackeys. 

The Grecian style of art, with its long facade, 
its lofty columns, its noble porticoes, does not 
appear to us suitable to the climate of Russia, 
and yet it is this which the inhabitants of St. 
Petersburg have sought to acclimatize in their 
cold and wintry regions. It seems strikingly 
out of place to see the Parthenon, which over¬ 
looked the sunny waters of the south, trans¬ 
ferred to the ice-bound shores of the Baltic. 
The temples which graced the rocky steeps 
of the Egean seem out of keeping on the 
marshes of the Neva. And yet it is to this 
style of architecture that they have so much 
resorted. These are, however, rendered worse 
by being adorned with ornaments of tinsel 
show, whose very beauty in their native climes 
is their chaste simplicity. 

By the side of all this magnificence is found 
the ever-present Russian filth. These two 
words, says a traveller, describe the city. 
The hotels especially, abound in this. They 
are most uncomfortable within, and form a 

* There are frequently seen on the same table, the 
sterlet of the Volga, the ve il of Archangel, the nvitton 
of Astraehan, the beef of the Ukraine, ami the pheas¬ 
ant of Hungary and Bohemia. 


striking contrast to the splendor that reigns 
around. Nor is the attendance better. There 
is a perfect contempt of comfort, on the part 
of those charged to administer it to you. “ I 
resided in a hotel/’ says M. Marmier, “ which 
had been recommended to me as one of the 
best. Every seven or eight days, my moujik, 
tired of yawning on the staircase, and not 
knowing what else to do, came to take the 
covering off my bed and pour a little fresh 
water into a jug when he went away, en¬ 
chanted at having accomplished such marvels. 
Cleaning a bureau or dusting a chair was work 
unworthy of him. He quietly permitted 
floods of dust to accumulate on the furniture.” 

Such is a brief glance at St. Petersburg. 
To have considered it more at length would 
have led us into details inconsistent with our 
plan. 


SELF-GOVERNMENT. 

lit the midst of events which seem to be¬ 
speak predestination, man still feels that b*. is 
free. The planets wheel through the heav¬ 
ens : the earth revolves on its axis, and per¬ 
forms its vast annual circuit; the seasons come 
and go ; the clouds rise and vanish ; the rain, 
the hail, and the snow, descend ; and in all 
this, man has no voice. There is a system of 
government above beyond, and around him, 
declaring a sovereignty which takes no coun¬ 
sel of him. But still, in the midst of all this, 
man possesses a consciousness of freedom. 
The metaphysician may be confounded with 
the seeming inconsistency of an omnipotence, 
ruling over ail things, yet granting free agency 
to the subjects of its power. But common sense 
does not puzzle itself with an attempt to discover 
the precise point at which these seeming prin¬ 
ciples of opposition may clash or coalesce. It 
contents itself with the obvious fact that God 
is a sovereign, who has yet created beings, 
and given them their freedom, prescribing 
boundaries to their powers and capacities, in¬ 
deed, but within these limits permitting them 
to act by their own volition. 

Man then is free ; he has the power to seek 
happiness in his own way. He enters upon 
existence, and sets forward in the path of life. 
But as he passes along, a thousand tempters 
beset him. Pleasure comes to beckon him 
away, offering him present flowers, and unfold¬ 
ing beantiful prospects in the distance. Wealth 
seeks to make him her votary, by disclosing 
her magic power over men and things. Aim 
bition woos him with dreams of glory. Indo¬ 
lence assays to soften and seduce him to her 
influence. Love, envy, malice, revenge, jeal- 









TRAJAN AND ROBERT FULTON. 


267 


ousy, and other busy spirits, assail him with 
their various arts. And man is free to yield 
to those temptations if he will; or he has the 
power to resist them if he will. God has sur¬ 
rendered him to his own discretion, making 
him responsible, however, for the use and the 
abuse of the liberty bestowed upon him. 

If a person mounts a high-spirited horse, it 
is important that he should be able to control 
him, otherwise he may be dashed to pieces. 
If an engineer undertakes to conduct a loco¬ 
motive, it is necessary that he should be able 
to guide or check the panting engine at his 
pleasure, else his own life, and the lives of 
others may be sacrificed. But it is still more 
indispensable that an individual, who is in¬ 
trusted with the care of himself, should be 
able to govern himself. 

This might seem a very easy task ; but it 
is one of the most difficult that we are called 
upon to perform. History shows us that some 
of the greatest men have failed in it. Alex¬ 
ander could conquer the legions of Persia, but 
he could not conquer his passions. Cassar tri¬ 
umphed in a hundred battles, but he fell a 
victim to the desire of being a king. Bona¬ 
parte vanquished nearly the whole of Europe, 
but he could not vanquish his own ambition. 
And in humbler life, nearer home in our own 
every-day affairs, most of us are often drawn 
aside from the path of duty and discretion, 
because we can not resist some temptations or 
overcome some prejudice. 

If we consider that self-government requires 
two things: first, whenever we are tempted 
to deviate from the path of rectitude or to act 
imprudently, or whenever we are tempted to 
neglect any duty, that we should possess and 
exercise the power to check ourselves in the 
one case, and to compel ourselves to the re¬ 
quired action in the other, we shall see that it 
is the great regulator of conduct, the very 
balance-wheel of life. Without it, a person 
is almost sure to miss happiness, however 
great may be his gifts, however high his for¬ 
tune; with it the humblest individual may 
command not merely the world’s wealth, but 
the world’s respect; and, what is better, 
peace of mind, and the consciousness of Heav¬ 
en’s approbation. 

If parents would not trust a child upon the 
back of a wild horse without bit or bridle, let 
them not permit him to go forth into the world 
unskilled in self-government. If a child is 
passionate, teach him, by gentle and patient 
means to curb his temper. If he is greedy, 
cultivate liberality in him. If he is selfish, 
promote generosity. If he is sulky, charm 
him out of it, by encouraging frank good hu¬ 
mor. If he is indolent, accustom him to exer¬ 
tion, and train him so as to perform even on¬ 
erous duties with alacrity. If pride comes in 


to make his obedience reluctant, subdue him, 
by either counsel or discipline. In short, give 
your children the habit of overcoming their 
besetting sins. Let them feel that they can 
overcome temptation. Let them acquire from 
experience, that confidence in themselves 
which gives security to the practised horse¬ 
man, even on the back of a high-strung steed, 
and they will triumph over the difficulties and 
dangers which beset them in the path of life. 


TRAJAN AND ROBERT FULTON. 

THE CONNEXION OF THEIR WORKS. 

The close of the first century beheld a 
Spaniard on the throne of Rome. He was a 
native of Seville, and was at the head of the 
army in Germany when the aged Nerva called 
him to share the cares of the government. 
The death of the old emperor soon after oc¬ 
curred, and Trajan was left to reign alone. 
When the eyes of millions were turned tow¬ 
ard him with the most profound interest, he 
proved himself to be adequate to his place, 
and for nearly twenty years continued to fill 
the Roman world with the renown of his 
achievements. His immediate predecessors 
had professed to maintain the peaceful policy 
of Augustus, but their vices rendered them 
quite incompetent to carry it out with dignity 
and success. The concessions which Augus¬ 
tus had won by diplomacy, they could not 
keep, either by wisdom or by force. Although 
they were troubled by incursions on their 
eastern borders, yet the Roman name was 
most grossly insulted by the barbarians of 
Dacia, north of the Danube, who crossed the 
river, ravaged the country, defeated the le¬ 
gions, and even imposed a tribute on Domitian. 
At last the humbled army were surprised to 
see an imperial soldier at their head, march¬ 
ing on foot, sharing their fatigues, and content 
with their fare. Under the eye of Trajan, the 
ancient discipline and valor were revived; and 
the Dacian king, Decebalus, ranked among 
the first warriors of his age, was thrice de¬ 
feated ; his hordes were driven back beyond 
the Danube, and his kingdom was reduced to 
a province of the empire. 

The victories of Trajan, however, would 
hardly be thought of now, but for the stony 
records which proclaim to the traveller along 
the confines of Dacia, the bold projects of the 
emperor to spread the civilizing arts into those 
northern regions, and to naturalize those sav¬ 
age tribes to the Roman life and manners. 
Indeed, a fresh reminiscence of his history 
was brought to light, ten years since, by a 
Servian fisherman, who discovered, in the bed 


L 















TRAJAN AND ROBERT FULTON. 


r- —-• 

j- 

2G8 


of the river, near tlie village of Praona, a 
bronze bust of Trajan. About twenty-five 
miles above this spot, are yet to be seen the 
remains of that splendid bridge of stone, which 
Trajan reared across the Danube, at a point 
where the river is two thousand and four hun¬ 
dred feet in width, guarded it with strong 
castles at both ends, and fitted it to be a per¬ 
manent thoroughfare to connect his new con- 
quest with the old dominion. Little did he 
think that it would ever fall by the hands of 
Romans ! Least of all could he imagine that 
his successor, acknowledging his incapacity 
to govern so wide a realm, would destroy this 
noble monument of imperial power. At this 
day, the bases of the castles are visible, and 
buttresses eighteen feet thick. Eleven piles 
may be seen in the bed of the river, at low 
water. Apollodorus, of Damascus, the great 
architect of the time, whose name is associa¬ 
ted with much of the magnificence of Rome, 
planned and executed this structure, anima¬ 
ted, no doubt, by the full belief, that he was 
“ building for posterity.” 

Not a long time after the completion of the 
bridge, the northern traveller of the second 
century enjoyed the advantage of a v/ell-con- 
structed road, extending from the Danube far 
into the interior of the savage Dacia, termina¬ 
ting near Bender, about fifty miles from the 
Black sea. It was a bold conception of the 
emperor, and its traces indicate his faith in 
the principle, that whatsoever is worth doing 
at all is worth doing well; for great difficul¬ 
ties were overcome, and in some places it is 
cut, with signal skill, through solid rock. 
Seventeen hundred years ago, a man might 
pass with some degree of comfort through that 
land ; but in these days, if one venture to trav¬ 
el there, as he finds himself seated in a car¬ 
riage of the rudest form, and jolted over a 
rough and rutty Moldavian wagon-track, drag¬ 
ged, too, by ponies destitute of all tackle, ex¬ 
cept a few frail cords, with many a sigh will 
he call to mind the signs of civilization in the 
days of Trajan. 

But special praise is due to the emperor for 
his efforts to improve the navigation of the 
Danube, and to make it subserve, through all 
time, the interests of commerce. As the ge¬ 
ographer looks upon the map of Europe, and 
beholds this magnificent river, springing up in 
the very heart of the continent, fed by sixty 
streams which flow down from the Carpathian 
and Alpine heights, bringing its constant tribute 
to the feet of many ancient und mighty cities, 
—now boldly pushing its way through mount¬ 
ain ramparts, and making forests echo its roar 
of waters, and now again spreading itself out 
into a lake of beauty, reflecting scenes of the 
richest fertility upon its glassy bosom, then 
rolling on with turbid and rapid volume, till, 


at last, it blends with the waves of the Euxine, 
to wash the coast Asia—how can he avoid be¬ 
ing filled with admiration at the sight of such 
a splendid avenue of commerce, and acknowl¬ 
edging the design of Providence to make it 
the means of bringing “kindreds and tribes” 
of men together, in a friendly interchange of 
benefits, and uniting them in bonds of social 
intercourse ? Ages have rolled away, how¬ 
ever, during which the scholar, the merchant, 
the voyager, and the philanthropist, have 
read, in the records of geography, that “the 
Danube is not navigable to the Euxine, on ac¬ 
count of the cataracts.” Too true, indeed, 
but what a melancholy testimony is this to 
the leaden slowness of Europe, in the career 
of improvement, and to the long, long retro¬ 
cession of art, science, and civilization in the 
old world ! For, in the reign of Trajan, there 
was a spirit of enterprise, awakened and fos¬ 
tered by his genius, which could mock at such 
obstacles to its course, as these “ cataracts,” 
that sank to littleness before the march of 
Roman art. This section of the Eisen Thor, 
or Iron Gate, on account of the bold sweep of 
the lofty banks, and the enormous rocks of a 
ferruginous color which make the river’s bed, 
causing the passage to appear as if entirely 
closed up, extending not much further than 
seven thousand feet, was nearly surrounded, 
in the time of Trajan, by a large canal, beau¬ 
tifully chiselled out according to his directions, 
designed by him as a lasting boon to northern 
Europe. But, alas! he left no heir to his com¬ 
prehensive views, and his lofty spirit. His 
plans were abandoned, and this great work 
was left to dilapidation and ruin; to be almost 
choked up by falling stones and earth ; to re¬ 
main for centuries a monument of the solemn 
truth, that the old Roman civilization had then 
spent its last energies, and that humanity must 
pause in its career of progress, to wait for 
some new impulse, ere it could advance an¬ 
other step, or gain new triumphs over the 
gloomy reign of barbarism. 

“Be patient — bide thy name.” This is 
God’s lesson, taught by history to every honest 
worker in the cause of man. It is taught 
here—“The night is far spent.” The im pulse 
long waited for, has come at last. It has come, 
not from the bosom of paganism, but of Chris¬ 
tianity—not from the shores of the Tiber, but 
of the Hudson. The mind which grappled 
successfully with the problem of applying the 
expansive power of steam to navigation, set at, 
work a moral force which has lately reached 
the borders of Dacia—has broken the deep 
sleep of ages—has given to the people new 
ideas—has kindled a desire for knowledge— 
has opened new plans for enterprise—has called 
art from its tomb to renew its youth—and, 
having disinterred the ship-canal of Trajan 












THE NIGER. 


269 


aroand the Eisen Thor, is giving to the work 
its finishing stroke, and causing it to be a con¬ 
necting link between the commerce of the 
western and the eastern world. 

The manner in which steam navigation was 
commenced on the Danube, it may be well to 
record. The first experiment was made a 
little more than twelve years since, by Mr. 
Andrews, of Vienna. The want of public 
confidence in the practicability of the plan, 
was the cause of much discouragement during 
three successive years, when the voyage was 
often made with only a single passenger. At 
length, a great fair at Semlin roused public 
curiosity, and three hundred persons embarked 
at Pest. From that day, the project became 
very popular with the Hungarians and the 
Turks; and Count Szechenyi, of Pest, who 
possesses ample fortune, has devoted his time, 
talents, and purse, to its promotion. He vis¬ 
ited England, in order to obtain the best ma¬ 
chinery, engaged English engineers, and stim¬ 
ulated Metternich and the Austrian emperor to 
patronise the work. The position thus taken 
by Austria, is an important one, considered 
politically, as it is asserting a general right to 
the navigation of the Danube, raising up a 
barrier against the ambitious encroachments 
of Russia, and bringing Christian and Moslem 
countries into intimate communication. 

Immense and far-reaching as must be the 
effects of steam navigation upon the social 
state of the world, they will never transcend 
the measure of the hopes which glowed in the 
breast of Robert Fulton. His was a great 
soul. It was ever inditing bright prophecies 
of the future. It was a living spring of phi¬ 
lanthropy. Herein lay his great strength to 
brave disappointments, failures, and neglect. 
Although the bent of his genius led him, even 
in early life, like Michael Angelo, to seek his 
amusements in the shops of mechanics, and in 
works of art, yet we see the moral grandeur 
of Fulton’s mind in the fact, that his strongest 
impulse to action was his earnest sympathy 
with the fortunes of his race. “ A universal 
free trade,” says Mr. Colden, his biographer, 
“was his favorite theory in political economy; 
and the war system of the old world, he con¬ 
sidered as the cause of the misery of the great¬ 
est portion of its inhabitants.” He cherished 
a firm belief in the progress of society, in the 
ultimate triumphs of peace, and in a final 
prevalence of a spirit of brotherhood among 
the nations of the earth. 

The different effects which have flowed from 
the lives of Trajan and Fulton, exhibit, in a 
striking light, how much can be done by sci¬ 
ence, and how little by war, for the civiliza¬ 
tion of mankind. In spite of all the emperor’s 
achievements in Dacia, and his colony of thir¬ 
ty thousand Romans settled there, seventeen 


centuries have rolled over the inhabitants of 
that rude country without beholding one step 
of moral progress, or a single change for the 
better in their social state. The celebrated 
Tuscan column, reared by Apollodorus in 
honor of Trajan, still stands in “ the eternal 
city,” covered with basso-relievoes, portraying 
the appearance and manners of the Dacians. 
If these same figures had all been just carved 
by tbe hand of Powers, they would represent 
as well the Dacians of the present day as those 
of the age of Trajan. They wear the same 
mean costume, and use the same awkward 
implements of agriculture. They live in the 
same vile kind of straw huts, compared with 
which an American log-cabin is a palace. 
They are generally small in stature, ignorant, 
idle, faithless, clothed in sheep-skins, and 
either going barefoot or wearing sandals. The 
cattle of their farms appear untamed and wild, 
and their dogs are very wolves as to ferocity. 
In every point of character, these Wallachians 
and Moldavians are inferior to the inhabitants 
of Servia, on the opposite side of the river, 
who are more immediately under Turkish rule. 
What a spectacle in the sight of Christendom! 
A nation of Europe living seventeen hundred 
years without the least sign of improvement! 
Their state is one of dull and dreary monot¬ 
ony. But a better time is coming. This 
gloomy night of barbarism is beginning to pass 
a wav. The whizzing sound of the first steam- 
er which disturbed the repose of these north¬ 
ern wilds, was the herald of an auspicious 
change, and the impulse given to the march of 
Christian civilization by the toils of Robert 
Fulton, has already extended from the banks 
of the Hudson to those of the Danube and the 
Euxine. May Heaven speed it, and “ the 
stars in their courses” favor it, until it shall 
girdle the earth with a zone of light, and 
hasten the era, when no more the separating 
frith or ocean shall make enemies of nations, 
but all— 

41 Like kindred drops, be mingled into one.” 


THE NIGER. 

The Niger is a large river of central Africa, 
celebrated "for the uncertainty and mystery 
which prevailed for ages respecting its course 
and termination, a problem which has been 
but recently solved. Its source is in western 
Africa, near that of the river Senegal. In the 
upper part of its course it is called by the na¬ 
tives the Joliba, and in the lower part it is 
known by the name of the Quorra. The 
name of the Niger w r as given to it by Euro¬ 
peans, from the supposition that it was the 
same river mentioned by Herodotus, Ptolemy, 























AMERICAN SCENERY. 


270 


and others. It is, doubtful, however, whether 
its existence was known to the ancient geogra¬ 
phers. To the moderns it has been known 
but very imperfectly. By many it was be¬ 
lieved to be a branch of the Nile, by others to 
lose itself either in a lake, or in the sands of 
the deserts of Africa. Thus its source, as 
well as its course, remained in obscurity until 
the latter part of the 18th century, when an 
association was formed in Great Britain for 
the purpose of promoting discovery in Africa. 
In 1788, this society despatched John Led- 
yard, an American by birth, who had been 
round the world with Captain Cook, and was 
a remarkably enterprising traveller. His in¬ 
struction were to penetrate the interior from 
Egypt, in search of the Niger. He, howev¬ 
er, unfortunately perished in Cairo, in Egypt, 
the same year. Other fruitless attempts were 
made by English travellers, proving fatal to 
themselves, and the course of this river re¬ 
mained in obscurity, no modern traveller hav¬ 
ing succeeded in reaching its banks. The 
honor of accomplishing this hazardous enter¬ 
prise was reserved for the celebrated Mungo 
Park, a Scotchman, sent out by the associa¬ 
tion above referred to, in 1795. Landing on 
the western coast, he penetrated up the river 
Gambia, which he left, at Medina. Having: 
crossed the Senegal, he arrived soon after, at 
Jarra, and taking a course southward of east, 
after great hardships, he at length arrived at 
the long-sought-for Niger, which he beheld 
flowing from west to east. From Sego, he 
continued his journey to Silla, along the banks 
of the Niger, where, finding himself exhaust¬ 
ed and destitute, he determined on returning to 
England, where he arrived in December, 1797. 

Park was sent out again, in 1805, by the 
African association, to pursue his investiga¬ 
tions respecting this river, but this second 
journey terminated fatally. He proceeded 
with a party to the banks of the Niger, a few 
miles below Sego, where he accomplished the 
building of a vessel and embarked with four 
Europeans, the only survivors of his party, 
intending to descend the river to its mouth. 
From accounts afterward received, it appeared 
that they were attacked by the natives at 
Boussa, and killed; the boat was lost and Mr. 
Park drowned in the river. Various expedi¬ 
tions since sent to Africa, to explore this river, 
have proved unsuccessful and fatal to the ad¬ 
venturers, until 1830, when two young men, 
Richard Lander and his brother John, were 
sent out by the British government (Richard 
Lander having formerly accompanied Captain 
Clapperton on a similar expedition). They 
landed at Badagry, on the west coast of Afri¬ 
ca, and proceeded over land to Boussa, on the 
Niger, whence they ascended to Yaoorie. 
They then descended the river, and finally 


reached the sea by a mouth of the Niger, 
which had been before known as the river 
Nun, thus having had the honor of deciding a 
question which had perplexed geographers for 
ages. The course of the Niger is nearly north¬ 
east from its sources to Timbuctoo, soon after 
which it is believed to turn to the southeast, un¬ 
til it reaches Yaoorie; thence its course varies 
from southeast to southwest, flowing into the 
bight of Benin (a part of the gulf of Guinea). It 
is supposed to have several mouths, although 
but one is known. Its course has been traced 
for two thousand miles, a considerable part of 
which is navigable for steamboats, through a 
rich and populous country, and its whole 
length is probably three thousand miles. Cape 
Formosa, at the mouth of the Nun, is in lati¬ 
tude 4° 20' north, longitude 6° east. 

Our engraving exhibits a pleasing view on 
the river described above. In that quarter of 
the world there are few roads, and therefore 
it is very difficult and dangerous, and some¬ 
times almost impossible, to travel any distance 
by land. But by means of the great rivers 
of Africa, which have been well called its 
high roads, the task of reaching central re¬ 
gions has become comparatively easy. An¬ 
other river, called the Chadda, which falls in¬ 
to the Niger, enables the voyager to proceed 
many hundreds of miles toward the east. The 
people who live in the neighborhood of these 
rivers are very ready to trade with one anoth¬ 
er, and with foreigners, as will be perceived 
by the market-boats in the engraving; but the 
trade chiefly carried on of late years has been 
the horrible traffic in human beings. They 
have sold their own brethren into slavery; 
and there is every reason to believe that, at 
the present time, according to the most mod¬ 
erate calculation, Africa loses about one thou¬ 
sand of her inhabitants every day, in conse¬ 
quence of the slave-trade. To check, and 
eventually to extinguish, this enormous evil, 
is one of the most important duties of the 
Christian missionary. Our armed prevention 
fleets, may check the traffic, but it is the in¬ 
culcation of Christianity alone, that will in¬ 
sure its abolition. 


AMERICAN SCENERY. 

The essay, which is here offered, is a mere 
sketch of an almost illimitable subject—Amer¬ 
ican scenery; and in selecting the theme the 
writer placed more confidence in its overflow¬ 
ing richness, than in his own capacity for 
treating it in a manner worthy of its vastness 
and importance. 

It is a subject that to every American ought 









Mountains an4 Market-Canoes, near Bokweh on the Niger, West Africa. 



















































































































































































































































































































































































































272 AMERICAN SCENERY. 


to be of surpassing interest; for, whether he 
beholds the Hudson mingling waters with the 
Atlantic—explores the central wilds of this 
vast continent, or stands on the margin of the 
distant Oregon, he is still in the midst of 
American scenery — it is his own land ; its 
beauty, its magnificence, its sublimity—all are 
his ; and how undeserving of such a birthright, 
if he can turn toward it an unobscrving eye, 
an unaffected heart! 

Before entering into the proposed subject, 
in which we shall treat more particularly of 
the scenery of the northern and eastern states, 
we shall be excused for saying a few words 
on the advantages of cultivating a taste for 
scenery, and for exclaiming against the apathy 
with which the beauties of external nature are 
regarded by the great mass, even of our re¬ 
fined community. 

It is generally admitted that the liberal arts 
tend to soften our manners; but they do more 
—they carry with them the power to mend 
our hearts. 

Poetry and painting sublime and purify 
thought, by grasping the past, the present, 
and the future—they give the mind a foretaste 
of its immortality, and thus prepare it for per¬ 
forming an exalted part amid the realities of 
life. And rural nature is full of the same 
quickening spirit—it is, in fact, the exhaust¬ 
less mine from which the poet and the painter 
have brought such wondrous treasures—an 
unfailing fountain of intellectual enjoyment, 
where all may drink, and be awakened to a 
deeper feeling of the works of genius, and a 
keener perception of the beauty of our exist¬ 
ence. For those whose days are all consumed 
in the low pursuits of avarice, or the gaudy 
frivolities of fashion, unobservant of nature’s 
loveliness, are unconscious of the harmony of 
creation:— 

'• Heaven’s roof to them 

Is but a painted ceiling hung with lamps ; 

No more—that lights them to their purposes— 

They wander‘loose about;’ they nothing see, 

Themselves except, and creatures like themselves, 

Short-lived, short sighted.” 

What to them is the page of the poet where 
he describes or personifies the skies, the mount¬ 
ains, or the streams, if those objects them¬ 
selves have never awakened observation or 
excited pleasure ? What to them is the wild 
Salvator Rosa, or the aerial Claude Lorrain ? 

There is in the human mind an almost in¬ 
separable connexion between the beautiful and 
the good, so that if we contemplate the one 
the other seems present; and an excellent 
author has said, “ it is difficult to look at any 
objects with pleasure—unless where it arises 
from brutal und tumultuous emotions—with¬ 
out feeling that disposition of mind which tends 
toward kindness and benevolence; and surely, 


whatever creates such a disposition, by in¬ 
creasing our pleasures and enjoyments, can 
not be too much cultivated.” 

It would seem unnecessary to those w r ho 
can see and feel, for me to expatiate on the 
loveliness of verdant fields, the sublimity of 
lofty mountains, or the varied magnificence 
of the sky ; but that the number of those who 
seek enjoyment in such sources is comparative¬ 
ly small. From the indifference with which 
the multitude regard the beauties of nature, 
it might be inferred that she had been un¬ 
necessarily lavish in adorning this world for 
beings who take no pleasure in its adornment. 
Who in grovelling pursuits forget their glori¬ 
ous heritage. Why was the earth made so 
beautiful, or the sun so clad in glory at his 
rising and setting, -when all might be unrobed 
of beauty without affecting the insensate mul¬ 
titude, so they can be “lighted to their pur¬ 
poses” ? 

It has not been in vain—the good, the en¬ 
lightened of all ages and nations, have found 
pleasure and consolation in the beauty of the 
rural earth. Prophets of old retired into the 
solitudes of nature to wait the inspiration of 
Heaven. It was on Mount Horeb that Elijah 
witnessed the mighty wind, the earthquake, 
and the fire ; and heard the “still small voice” 
—that voice is yet heard among the mount¬ 
ains! St. John preached in the desert—the 
wilderness is yet a fitting place to speak of 
God. The solitary Anchorites of Syria and 
Egypt, though ignorant that the busy world is 
man’s noblest sphere of usefulness, well knew 
how congenial to religious musings are the 
pathless solitudes. 

Fie who looks on nature with a “loving 
eye,” can not move from his dwelling without 
the salutation of beauty; even in the city the 
deep blue sky and the drifting clouds appeal 
to him. And if to escape its turmoil—if only 
to obtain a free horizon, land and water in the 
play of light and shadow yields delight—let 
him be transported to those favored regions, 
where the features of the earth are more 
varied, or yet add the sunset, that wreath of 
glory daily bound around the world, and he, 
indeed, drinks from pleasure’s purest cup. 
The delight such a man experiences is not 
merely sensual, or selfish, that passes with 
the occasion leaving no trace behind ; but in 
gazing on the pure creations of the Almighty, 
he feels a calm religious tone steal through 
his mind, and when he has turned to mingle 
with his fellow-men, the chords which have 
been struck in that sweet communion cease not 
to vibrate. 

In what has been said we have alluded to 
wild and uncultivated scenery; but the cul¬ 
tivated must not be forgotten, for it is still 
more important to man in his social capacity 













AMERICAN SCENERY. 


—necessarily bringing him in contact with the 
cultured; it encompasses our homes, and, 
though devoid of the stern sublimity of the 
wild, its quieter spirit steals tenderly into our 
bosoms mingled with a thousand domestic 
affections and heart-touching associations— 
•human hands have wrought, and human deeds 
hallowed all around. 

And it is here that taste, which is the per¬ 
ception of the beautiful, and the knowledge 
of the principles on which nature works, can 
be applied, and our dwelling-places made fit¬ 
ting for refined and intellectual beings. 

If, then, it is indeed true that the contem¬ 
plation of scenery can be so abundant a source 
of delight and improvement, a taste for it is 
certainly worthy of particular cultivation; 
for the capacity for enjoyment increases with 
the knowledge of the true means of obtain¬ 
ing it. 

In this age, when a meager utilitarianism 
seems ready to absorb every feeling and senti¬ 
ment, and what is sometimes called improve¬ 
ment in its march makes us fear that the bright 
and tender flowers of the imagination shall all 
be crushed beneath its iron tramp, it would be 
well to cultivate the oasis that yet remains to 
us, and thus preserve the germs of a future 
and a purer system. And now, when the 
sway of fashion is extending widely over so¬ 
ciety—poisoning the healthful streams of true 
refinement, and turning men from the love of 
simplicity and beauty, to a senseless idolatry 
of their own follies—to lead them gently into 
the pleasant paths of taste would be an object 
worthy of the highest efforts of genius and 
benevolence. The spirit of our society is to 
contrive but not to enjoy—toiling to produce 
more toil—accumulating in order to aggran¬ 
dize. The pleasures of the imagination, among 
which the love of scenery holds a conspicuous 
place, will alone temper the harshness of such 
a state; and, like the atmosphere that softens 
the most rugged forms of the landscape, cast 
a veil of tender beauty over the asperities of 
life. 

Did our limits permit we would endeavor 
more fully to show how necessary to the com¬ 
plete appreciation of the fine arts is the study 
of scenery, and how* conducive to our happiness 
and well-being is that study and those arts; 
but we must now proceed to the proposed sub¬ 
ject of this essay—American Scenery! 

There are those who through ignorance or 
prejudice strive to maintain that American 
scenery possesses little that is interesting or 
truly beautiful—that it is rude without pic¬ 
turesqueness, and monotonous without sublim¬ 
ity—that being destitute of those vestiges of 
antiquity, whose associations so strongly affect 
the mind, it may not be compared with Euro¬ 
pean scenery. But from whom do these opin- 


273 


ions come? From those who have read of 
European scenery, of Grecian mountains, and 
Italian skies, and never troubled themselves 
to look at their own; and from those travelled 
ones whose eyes were never opened to the 
beauties of nature until they beheld foreign 
lands, and when those lands faded from the 
sight were again closed and for ever; disdain¬ 
ing to destroy their trans-atlantic impressions 
by the observation of the less fashionable and 
unfamed American scenery. Let such per¬ 
sons shut themselves up in their narrow shell 
of prejudice—we hope they are few—and the 
community increasing in intelligence, will 
know better how to appreciate the treasures 
of their own country. 

We are by no means desirous of lessening in 
any one’s estimation the glorious scenes of the 
old world—that ground which has been the 
great theatre of human events—'those mount¬ 
ains, woods, and streams, made sacred in our 
minds by heroic deeds and immortal song— 
over which time and genius have suspended 
an imperishable halo. No ! But we would 
have it remembered that nature has shed over 
this land beauty and magnificence, and al¬ 
though the character of its scenery may differ 
from the old world’s, yet inferiority must not 
therefore be inferred; for though American 
scenery is destitute of many of those circum¬ 
stances that give value to the European, still 
it has features, and glorious ones, unknown to 
Europe. 

A very few generations have passed away 
since this vast tract of the American continent, 
now the United States, rested in the shadow 
of primeval forests, whose gloom was peopled 
by savage beasts, and scarcely less savage 
men; or lay in those wide grassy plains called 
prairies— 

“ The gardens of the deserts, these 
The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful." 

And, although an enlightened and increasing 
people have broken in upon the solitude, and 
with activity and power wrought changes that 
seem magical, yet the most distinctive, and 
perhaps the most impressive characteristic of 
American scenery, is its wildness. 

It is the most distinctive, because in civilized 
Europe the primitive features of scenery have 
long since been destroyed or modified—the 
extensive forests that once overshadowed a 
great part of it have been felled—rugged 
mountains have been smoothed, and impetu¬ 
ous rivers turned from their courses to accom¬ 
modate the tastes and necessities of a dense 
population—the once tangled wood is now a 
grassy lawn ; the turbulent brook a navigable 
stream—crags that could not be removed have 
been crowned with towers, and the rudest 
valleys tamed by the plough. 

And to this cultivated state our western 


18 
















274 


AMERICAN SCENERY. 


world is fast approaching; hut nature is still 
predominant, and there are those who regret 
that with the improvements of cultivation the 
sublimity of the wilderness should pass away: 
for those scenes of solitude from which the 
hand of nature has never been lifted, affect 
the mind with a more deep-toned emotion than 
j aught which the hand of man has touched. 
Amid them the consequent associations are of 
God the creator—they are his undefiled works, 
and the mind is cast into the contemplation of 
eternal things. 

As mountains are the most conspicuous ob¬ 
jects in landscape, they will take the prece¬ 
dence in what we may say on the elements of 
American scenery. 

It is true that in the eastern part of this 
continent there are no mountains that vie in 
altitude with the snow-crowned Alps—that 
the Alieganies and the Catskills are in no 
point higher than five thousand feet; but this 
is no inconsiderable height ; Snowdon in 
Wales, and Ben-Nevis in Scotland, are not 
more lofty; and in New Hampshire, which 
has been called the Switzerland of the United 
I States, the White mountains almost pierce 
the region of perpetual snow. The Alle- 
ganies are in general heavy in form ; but the 
Catskills, although not broken into abrupt 
angles like the most picturesque mountains of 
Italy, have varied, undulating, and exceeding¬ 
ly beautiful outlines—they heave from the 
valley of the Hudson like the subsiding billows 
of the ocean after a storm. 

American mountains are generally clothed 
to the summit by dense forests, while those 
of Europe are mostly bare, or merely tinted 
by grass or heath. It may be that the mount¬ 
ains of Europe are on this account more pic¬ 
turesque in form, and there is a grandeur in 
their nakedness; but in the gorgeous garb of 
the American mountains there is more than 
an equivalent; and when the woods “have 
put their glory on,” as an American poet has 
beautifully said, the purple heath and yellow 
furze of Europe’s mountains are in comparison 
but as the faint secondary rainbow to the pri¬ 
mal one. 

But in the mountains of New Hampshire 
there is a union of the picturesque, the sublime, 
and the magnificent; there the bare peaks of 
granite, broken and desolate, cradle the clouds; 
while the valleys and broad bases of the mount¬ 
ains rest under the shadow of noble and varied 
forests; and the traveller who passes the 
Sandwich range on his way to the White 
mountains, of which it is a spur, can not but 
acknowledge, that although in some regions 
of the globe Nature has wrought on a more 
stupendous scale, yet she has nowhere so 
completely married together grandeur and 
loveliness : there he sees the sublime melting 


into the beautiful, the savage tempered by the 
magnificent. 

We will now speak of another component 
of scenery, without which every landscape is 
defective—-it is water. Like tne eye in the 
human countenance, it is a most expressive 
feature : in the unrippled lake, which mirrors 
all surrounding objects, we have the expression 
of tranquillity and peace—in the rapid stream, 
the headlong cataract, that of turbulence and 
impetuosity. 

In this great element of scenery, what land 
is so rich ? We would not speak of the great 
lakes, which are in fact inland seas—posses¬ 
sing some of the attributes of the ocean, though 
destitute of its sublimity; but of those small¬ 
er lakes, such as Lake George, Champlain, 
Winnipisiogee, Otsego, Seneca, and a hundred 
others, that stud like gems the bosom of this 
country. There is one delightful quality in 
nearly all these lakes—the purity and trans¬ 
parency of the water. In speaking of scenery 
it might seem unnecessary to mention this; 
but independent of the pleasure that we all 
have in beholding pure water, it is a circum¬ 
stance which contributes greatly to the beauty 
of landscape; for the reflections of surrounding 
objects, trees, mountains, sky, are most perfect 
in the clearest water; and the most perfect is 
the most beautiful. 

We would rather recommend a visit to the 
“ Holy Lake,” the beautiful “ Horican,” than 
attempt to describe its scenery—to behold one 
rambling on its storied shores, where its south¬ 
ern expanse is spread, begemmed with isles 
of emerald, and curtained by green receding 
hills — or, perhaps, gliding over its bosom, 
where the steep and rugged mountains ap¬ 
proach from either side, shadowing with black 
precipices the innumerable islets—some of 
which bearing a solitary tree, others a group 
of two or three, or a “ goodly company,” seem 
to have been sprinkled over the smiling deep 
in nature’s frolic hour. These scenes are 
classic—history and genius have hallowed 
them. War’s shrill clarion once waked the 
echos from these now silent hills—the pen of 
a living master has portrayed them in the 
pages of romance—and they are worthy of the 
admiration of the enlightened and the graphic 
hand of genius. 

Though differing from Lake George, Win- 
nipisiogee resembles it in multitudinous and 
uncounted islands. Its mountains do not stoop 
to the water’s edge, but through varied screens 
of forest may be seen ascending the sky soften¬ 
ed by the blue haze of distance—on the one 
hand rise the Gunstock mountains; on the 
other the dark Ossipees, while above and far 
beyond, rear the “ cloud-capt” peaks of the 
Sandwich and White mountains. 

We will not fatigue with a vain attempt to 

























AMERICAN SCENERY. 


describe the lakes that we have named; but 
would turn our attention to those exquisitely 
beautiful lakes that are so numerous in the 
northern states, and particularly in New 
Hampshire. In character they are truly and 
peculiarly American. We know nothing in 
Europe which they resemble ; the famous 
lakes of Albano and Nemi and the small and 
exceedingly picturesque lakes of Great Britain 
may be compared in size, but are dissimilar in 
almost every other respect. Embosomed in 
the primitive forest, and sometimes overshad¬ 
owed by huge mountains, they are the chosen 
places of tranquillity; and when the deer issues 
from the surrounding woods to drink the cool 
waters, he beholds his own image as in a pol¬ 
ished mirror—the flight of the eagle can be 
seen in the lower sky ; and if a leaf falls, the 
circling undulations chase each other to the 
shores unvexed by contending tides. 

There are two lakes of this description, 
situated in a wild mountain gorge called the 
Franconia Notch, in New Hampshire. They 
lie within a few hundred feet of each other, 
but are remarkable as having no communica¬ 
tion—one being the source of the wild Amo- 
noosuck, the other of the Pemigiwasset. Shut 
in by stupendous mountains which rest on crags 
that tower more than a thousand feet above 
the water, whose rugged brows and shadowy 
breaks are clothed by dark and tangled woods, 
they have such an aspect of deep seclusion, 
of utter and unbroken solitude, that, when 
standing on their brink a lonely traveller, we 
were overwhelmed with an emotion of the sub¬ 
lime, such as we have rarely felt. It was not 
that the jagged precipices were lofty, that the 
encircling woods were of the dimmest shade, 
or that the waters were profoundly deep ; but 
that over all, rocks, wood, and water, brooded 
the spirit of repose, and the silent energy of 
nature stirred the soul to its inmost depths. 

We would not be understood that these 
lakes are always tranquil; but that tranquil¬ 
lity is their great characteristic. There are 
times when they take a far different expres¬ 
sion; but in scenes like these the richest chords 
are those struck by the gentler hand of nature. 

And now we must turn to another of the 
beautifiers of the earth—the waterfall; which 
in the same object at once presents to the mind 
the beautiful, but apparently incongruous idea, 
of fixedness and motion—a single existence in 
which-we perceive unceasing change and ever¬ 
lasting d uration. The waterfall may be called 
the voice of the landscape, for, unlike the rocks 
and woods which utter sounds as instruments 
played on by the elements, the waterfall 
strikes its own chords, and rocks and mount¬ 
ains re-echo in rich unison. And this is a 
land abounding in cataracts; in these northern 
states where shall we turn and not find them ? | 


275 


Have we not Kaaterskill, Trenton, the Flume, 
the Genesee, stupendous Niagara, and a hun¬ 
dred others named and nameless ones, whose 
exceeding beauty must be acknowledged when 
the hand of taste shall point them out ? 

In the Kaaterskill we have a stream, di¬ 
minutive indeed, but throwing itself headlong 
over a fearful precipice into a deep gorge of 
the densely wooded mountains—and possessing 
a singular feature in the vast arched cave that 
extends beneath and behind the cataract. At 
Trenton there is a chain of waterfalls of re¬ 
markable beauty, where the foaming waters, 
shadowed by steep cliffs, break over rocks of 
architectural formation, and tangled and pic¬ 
turesque trees mantle abrupt precipices, which 
it would be easy to imagine crumbling and 
“ time-disparting towers.” 

And Niagara ! that wonder of the world !— 
where the sublime and beautiful are bound 
together in an indissoluble chain. In gazing 
on it we feel as though a great void had been 
filled in our minds—our conceptions expand— 
we become a part of what we behold! At 
our feet the floods of a thousand rivers are 
poured out—the contents of vast inland seas. 
In its volume we conceive immensity; in its 
course, everlasting duration; in its impetuosi¬ 
ty, uncontrollable power. These are the ele¬ 
ments of its sublimity. Its beauty is garland¬ 
ed around in the varied hues of the water, in 
the spray that ascends the sky, and in that 
unrivalled bow which forms a complete cinc¬ 
ture around the unresting floods. 

The river scenery of the United States is 
a rich and boundless theme. The Hudson for 
natural magnificence is unsurpassed. What 
can be more beautiful than the lake-like ex¬ 
panses of Tapaan and Haverstraw, as seen 
from the rich orchards of the surrounding hills; 
hills that have a legend, which has been so 
sweetly and admirably told that it shall not 
perish but with the language of the land ? 
What can be more imposing than the pre¬ 
cipitous highlands; whose dark foundations 
have been rent to make a passage for the deep¬ 
flowing river ? And, ascending still, where 
can be found scenes more enchanting ? The 
lofty Catskills stand afar off—the green hills 
gently rising from the flood, recede like steps 
by which we may ascend to a great temple, 
whose pillars are those everlasting hills, and 
whose dome is the blue boundless vault of 
heaven. 

The Rhine has its castled crags, its vine- 
clad hills, and ancient villages; the Hudson 
has its wooded mountains, its rugged precipi¬ 
ces, its green undulating shores—a natural 
majesty, and an unbounded capacity for im¬ 
provement by art. Its shores are not be¬ 
sprinkled with venerated ruins, or the palaces 
of princes; but there are flourishing towns, 







AMERICAN SCENERY. 


276 


and neat villas, and tlie hand of taste has al¬ 
ready been at work. Without any great 
stretch of the imagination we may anticipate 
the time when the ample waters shall reflect 
temple, and tower, and dome, in every variety 
of picturesqueness and magnificence. 

In the Connecticut we behold a river that 
differs widely from the Hudson. Its sources 
are amid the wild mountains of New Hamp¬ 
shire ; but it soon breaks into a luxuriant val¬ 
ley, and flows for more than a hundred miles, 
sometimes beneath the shadow of wooded 
hills, and sometimes glancing through the 
green expanse of elm-besprinkled meadows. 
Whether we see it at Haverhill, Northamp¬ 
ton, or Hartford, it still possesses that gentle 
aspect; and the imagination can scarcely con¬ 
ceive Arcadian vales more lovely or more 
peaceful than the valley of the Connecticut— 
its villages are rural places where trees over¬ 
spread every dwelling, and the fields upon its 
margin have the richest verdure. 

Nor ought the Ohio, the Susquehannah, the 
Potomac, with their tributaries, and a thou¬ 
sand others, be omitted in the rich list of 
American rivers—there are a glorious brother¬ 
hood ; but volumes would be insufficient for 
their description. 

In the forest scenery of the United States 
we have that which occupies the greatest 
space, and is not the least remarkable; being 
primitive, it differs widely from the European. 
In the American forest we find trees in every 
stage of vegetable life and decay—the slender 
sapling rises in the shadow of the lofty tree, 
and the giant in his prime stands by the hoary 
patriarch of the wood—on the ground lie 
prostrate decaying ranks that once waved their 
verdant heads in the sun and wind. These 
are circumstances productive of great variety 
and picturesqueness—green umbrageous mas¬ 
ses—lofty and scathed trunks—contorted 
branches thrust athwart the sky—the mould¬ 
ering dead below, shrouded in moss of every 
hue and texture, form richer combinations than 
can be found in the trimmed and planted grove. 
It is true that the thinned and cultivated wood 
offers less obstruction to the feet, and the trees 
throw out their branches more horizontally, 
and are consequently more umbrageous when 
taken singly; but the true lover of the pic¬ 
turesque is seldom fatigued—and trees that 
grow widely apart are often heavy in form, 
and resemble each other too much for pic¬ 
turesqueness. Trees are like men, differing 
widely in character; in sheltered spots, or 
under the influence of culture, they show few 
contrasting points; peculiarities are pruned 
and trained away, until there is a general re¬ 
semblance. But in exposed situations, wild 
and uncultivated, battling with the elements 
and with one another for the possession of a 


morsel of soil, or a favoring rock to which they 
may cling—they exhibit striking peculiarities, 
and sometimes grand originality. 

For variety, the American forest is unrival¬ 
led : in some districts are found oaks, elms, 
birches, beeches, planes, pines, hemlocks, and 
many other kinds of trees, commingled — 
clothing the hills with every tint of green, 
and every variety of light and shade. 

There is a peculiarity observable in some 
mountainous regions, where trees of a genus 
band together—there often may be seen a 
mountain whose foot is clothed with deciduous 
trees, while on its brow is a sable crown of 
pines; and sometimes belts of dark green en¬ 
circle a mountain horizontally, or are stretched 
in well-defined lines from the summit to the 
base. The nature of the soil, or the courses 
of rivulets, are the causes of this variety; and 
it is a beautiful instance of the exhaustless- 
ness of nature ; often where we should expect 
unvarying monotony, we behold a charming 
diversity. Time will not permit me to speak 
of the American forest-trees individually; 
but I must notice the elm, the paragon of 
beauty and shade; the maple, with its rain¬ 
bow hues; and the hemlock, the sublime of 
trees, which rises from the gloom of the forest 
like a dark and ivy-mantled tower. 

There is one season when the American 
forest surpasses all the world in gorgeousness 
—that is the autumnal; then every hill and 
dale is riant in the luxury of color—every hue 
is there, from the liveliest green to deepest 
purple—from the most golden yellow to the 
intensest crimson. The artist looks despair¬ 
ingly upon the glowing landscape, and in the 
old world his truest imitations of the Ameri¬ 
can forest, at this season, are called falsely 
bright, and scenes in fairy land. 

The sky will next demand our attention. 
The soul of all scenery, in it are the fountains 
of light, and shade, and color. Whatever ex¬ 
pression the sky takes, the features of the 
landscape are affected in unison, whether it 
be the serenity of the summer's blue, or the 
dark tumult of the storm. It is the sky that 
makes the earth so lovely at sunrise, and so 
splendid at sunset. In the one it breathes over 
the earth the crystal-like ether, in the other 
the liquid gold. The climate of a great part of 
the United States is subject to great vicissi¬ 
tudes, and we complain ; but nature offers a 
compensation. These very vicissitudes are 
the abundant sources of beauty—as we have 
the temperature of every clime, so have we 
the skies—we have the blue unsearchable 
depths of the northern sky—we have the up- 
heaped thunder-clouds of the torrid zone, 
fraught with gorgeousness and sublimity—we 
have the silver haze of England, and the gold¬ 
en atmosphere of Italy. And if he who has 









AMERICAN SCENERY. 


travelled and observed the skies of other climes 
will spend a few months on the banks of the 
Hudson, he must be constrained to acknowl¬ 
edge that for variety and magnificence Ameri¬ 
can skies are unsurpassed. Italian skies have 
been lauded by every tongue, and sung by ev¬ 
ery poet, and who will deny their wonder¬ 
ful beauty ? At sunset the serene arch is 
filled with alchymy that transmutes mount¬ 
ains, and streams, and temples, into living 
gold. 

But the American summer never passes 
without many sunsets that might vie with the 
Italian, and many still more gorgeous—that 
seem peculiar to this clime. 

Look at the heavens when the thunder 
shower has passed, and the sun stoops behind 
the western mountains—there the low purple 
clouds hang in festoons around the steeps—in 
the higher heaven are crimson bands inter¬ 
woven with feathers of gold, fit for the wings 
of angels—and still above is spread that inter¬ 
minable field of ether, whose color is too beau¬ 
tiful to have a name. 

It is not in the summer only that American 
skies are beautiful; for the winter evening 
often comes robed in purple and gold, and in 
the westering sun the iced groves glitter as 
beneath a shower of diamonds—and through 
the twilight heaven innumerable stars shine 
with a purer light than summer ever knows. 

What has been considered a grand defect 
in American scenery is the want of associa¬ 
tions, such as arise amid the scenes of the old 
world. 

We have many a spot as umbrageous as 
Vallombrosa, and as picturesque as the soli¬ 
tudes of Vaucluse; but Milton and Petrarch 
have not hallowed them by their footsteps and 
immortal verse. He who stands on Mont 
Albano and looks down on ancient Rome, has 
his mind peopled with the gigantic associations 
of the storied past; but he who stands on the 
mounds of the west, the most venerable re¬ 
mains of American antiquity, may experience 
the emotion of the sublime, but it is the sub¬ 
limity of a shoreless ocean un-islanded by the 
recorded deeds of man. 

Yet American scenes are not destitute of 
historical and legendary associations—the 
great struggle for freedom has sanctified many 
a spot, and many a mountain, stream, and rock, 
has its legend, worthy of poet’s pen or the 
painter’s pencil. But American associations 
are not so much of the past as of the present 
and the future. Seated on a pleasant knoll, 
look down into the bosom of that secluded 
valley, begirt with wooded hills—through 
those enamelled meadows and wide, waving 
fields of grain, a silver stream winds lingering¬ 
ly alone—here, seeking the green shade of 
trees—there, glancing in the sunshine : on its 


277 


banks are rural dwellings shaded by elms and 
garlanded by flowers—from yonder dark mass 
of foliage the village spire beams like a star. 
You see no ruined tower to tell of outrage— 
no gorgeous temple to speak of ostentation; 
but Freedom’s offspring—peace, security, and 
happiness, dwell there, the spirits of the scene. 
On the margin of that gentle river the village 
girls may ramble unmolested—and the glad 
school-boy, with hook and line, pass his bright 
holyday—those neat dwellings, unpretending 
to magnificence, are the abodes of plenty, vir¬ 
tue, and refinement. And in looking over the 
yet uncultivated scene, the mind’s eye may 
see far into futurity. Where the wolf roams,' 
the plough shall glisten; on the gray crag shall 
rise temple and tower—mighty deeds shall be 
done in the now pathless wilderness ; and po¬ 
ets yet unborn shall sanctify the soil. 

It was our intention to attempt a description 
of several districts remarkable for their pic¬ 
turesqueness and truly American character; 
but the space to which we have been limited 
forbids it. Yet we can not but express sor¬ 
row that the beauty of such landscapes are 
quickly passing away—the ravages of the axe 
are daily increasing—the most noble scenes 
are made desolate, and oftentimes with a wan¬ 
tonness and barbarism scarcely credible in a 
civilized nation. The way-side is becoming 
shadeless, and another generation •will behold 
spots, now rife with beauty, desecrated by 
what is called improvement; which, as yet, 
generally destroys Nature’s beauty without 
substituting that of Art. This is a regret 
rather than a complaint; such is the road so¬ 
ciety has to travel; it may lead to refinement 
in the end, but the traveller who sees the place 
of rest close at hand, dislikes the road that has 
so many unnecessary windings. 

We conclude, with the hope that, though 
feebly urged, the importance of cultivating a 
taste for scenery will not be forgotten. Na¬ 
ture has spread for us a rich and delightful 
banquet. Shall we turn from it? We are 
still in Eden ; the wall that shuts us out of the 
garden is our own ignorance and folly. We 
should not allow the poet’s words to be ap¬ 
plicable to us:— 

" Deep in rich pasture do thy flocks complain ? 
Not so; but to their master is denied 
To share the sweet serene.” 

May we at times turn from the ordinary pur¬ 
suits of life to the pure enjoyment of rural na¬ 
ture ; which is in the soul like a fountain of 
cool waters to the wayworn traveller; and 
let us 

“ Learn 

The laws by which the Eternal doth sublime 
And sanctify his works, that we may see 
The hidden glory veiled from vulgar eyes.” 








278 DIVISIONS OF THE GLOBE. 


DIVISIONS OF THE GLOBE, 

The natural division of the surface of the 
globe is into sea and land, about three fourths 
of the whole being occupied by water, al¬ 
though probably nowhere to a depth beyond 
two or three miles. The remaining fourth 
consists of land elevated more or less above 
the level of the sea, interspersed in some parts 
with smaller collections of water at various 
heights, and in a few instances somewhat low¬ 
er than the general surface of the main ocean. 
Thus, the Caspian sea is said to be about 
three hundred feet lower than the ocean, and 
in the interior part of Africa, there is probably 
a lake equally depressed. We can not ob¬ 
serve any general symmetry in this distribu¬ 
tion of the earth’s surface, except that the 
two large continents of Africa and South 
America, have some slight resemblance in 
their forms, and that each of them is termina¬ 
ted to the eastward by a collection of nume¬ 
rous islands. The large capes projecting to 
the southward, have also a similarity with 
respect to their form, and the islands near 
them. To the west, the continents are exca¬ 
vated into large bays, and the islands are to the 
east. Thus Cape Horn, has the Falkland 
islands; the Cape of Good Hope, Madagas- 
gar; and Cape Comorin, Ceylon to the east. 
The great continent, composed of Europe, Asia 
and Africa, constitutes about a seventh of the 
whole surface of the earth; America, about 
a sixteenth ; and New South Wales, about a 
fifth ; or, in hundredth parts of the whole, 
Europe contains two; Asia, seven; Africa, 
six ; America, six; and Australia, two; the 
remaining seventy-seven being sea; although 
some authors assign seventy-two parts only 
out of one hundred to the sea, and twenty- 
eight to the land. These proportions may be 
ascertained with tolerable accuracy, by weigh¬ 
ing the paper made for covering a globe, first 
entire, and then cut out, according to the ter¬ 
minations of the different countries. Or, if 
still greater accuracy were required, the great¬ 
er part of the continents might be divided in¬ 
to known portions of the whole surface, and 
their remaining irregular portions alone weigh¬ 
ed. It will be seen, even by a superficial 
glance, at an artificial globe, that the great 
preponderance of land lies toward the north¬ 
ern hemisphere or half; all the continents lie 
in this direction, and to the south, is a wide 
expanse of ocean, studded with numerous 
small and scattered groups of islands. It will 
be observed, too, that the continents stretch 
from the north pole, toward the equator and 
south pole, or parallel to the lines of longitude, 
not across or parallel to the equator. The 
general inclinations and levels of the conti¬ 
nents are discovered by the course of their 


rivers. Of these some of the principal are, 
the Amazon, the Missouri, the Mississippi, 
the Niger, the Arkansas, the Nile, the Kian- ; 
Ku, the St. Lawrence, the Hoang-ho, the 
Amour, the Rio del Norte, the Volga, the 
Yensei, the Oby, the Danube, the Indus, the 
Orinoco, the Ganges, the Euphrates, the Sen¬ 
egal, and the Dnieper; and this is nearly the 
order of their magnitudes. 

We may form a pretty accurate idea of the 
levels of the ancient continent, by tracing a 
line across it in such a direction as to pass no 
river, which will obviously point out a tract 
of country higher than most of the neighbor¬ 
ing parts. Beginning at Cape Finisterre, we 
soon arrive at the Pyrenees, keeping to the 
south of the Garonne, and the Loire. After 
taking a long turn northward to avoid the 
Rhine, we come to Switzerland ; and we may 
approach very near to the Mediterranean in 
the state of Genoa, taking care not to pass 
the branches of the Po. We make a circuit 
in Switzerland, and pass between the sources 
of the Danube and of the branches of the 
Rhine and Swabia. Crossing Franconia, we 
leave Bohemia to the north, in order to avoid 
the Elbe, and coming near to the borders of 
Austria, follow those of Hungary, to the 
south of the Vistula. The Dnieper then 
obliges us to go northward through Lithuania, 
leaving the Don wholly to the right, and the 
Volga, to pass still farther north, between 
Petersburg and Moscow. We may then go 
eastward to the boundaries of Asia, and thence 
northward to Nova Zembla. Hence we de¬ 
scend to the west of the Oby, and then to the 
east of the branches of the Volga, and the 
other inland rivers flowing into the lake Arel, 
and the Caspian sea. Here we are situated 
in the widely-extended elevation of India, in 
the neighborhood of the sources of the In¬ 
dus ; and lastly in our way hence toward 
Kamschatka, we leave Yensei, and Lena, on 
the left, and the Ganges, &c., on the right. 
The direction of the most conspicuous mount¬ 
ains is, however, a little different from this. 
The principal chain first constitutes the Pyr¬ 
enees, and divides Spain from France; then 
passes through Auvergne, to join the Alps, 
and through the south of Germany, Dalmatia, 
Albania, and Macedonia. It is found again 
beyond the Euxine, under the name of Tau¬ 
rus, Caucasus, and Imaus, and goes on to 
Tartary, and Kamschatka. The peninsula 
of India, is divided from north to south, by 
the mountains of Gate, extending from the 
extremity of Caucasus, to Cape Comorin. 
In Africa, Mount Atlas stretches from Fez to 
Egypt, and the Mountains of the Moon run 
nearly in the same direction. There is also a 
considerable elevation between the Nile and 
the Red sea. In the New World, the neigh- 












OF BABYLON. 279 

THE FALL OF BABYLON. 


THE FALL 


borhood of the western coast is in general the 
most elevated. In North America, the Blue 
mountains, or Stony mountains, are the most 
considerable, and the mountains of Mexico 
join the Andes or Cordilleras, which are con¬ 
tinued along the whole of the west coast of 
South America. There are several points in 
both hemispheres, from which we may observe 
rivers separating to run to different seas. 
The highest mountains in the world are the 
Himalaya range, in Asia, which are upward 
of twenty-eight thousand feet; Chimborazo, 
in America twenty-one thousand ; the Abys¬ 
sinian mountains in Africa, from ten to fifteen 
thousand; Mount Blanc, in Switzerland, fif¬ 
teen thousand ; and the Appenines, upward 
of nine thousand feet. The plains of Quito, 
in Peru, are so much elevated, that the bar¬ 
ometer stands at the height of fifteen inches 
only, which at the level of the sea, stands at 
thirty inches: thus the air is reduced to 
half its density. But none of these heights 
is equal to a thousandth part of half the 
earth’s diameter, and the greatest of these 
might be represented as grains of sand on a 
six-inch globe. 

The internal parts of the body of the earth 
are little known from actual observation, as 
the deepest mines or excavations, are com¬ 
paratively as but scratches on the end of an 
apple. The real density of the earth then, 
beyond the mere surface, is but matter of con¬ 
jecture. From observations on the attraction 
of the mountain Shehallion, Dr. Maskylen 
supposed the actual mean density of the 
earth throughout all its mass to be that of wa- 
ter as 41,- to 1, judging from the probable den¬ 
sity of the internal substance of the mount¬ 
ains, which he supposed to be a solid rock. 
Mr. Cavendish, has concluded more directly, 
from experiments on a mass of lead, that the 
mean density of the earth is to that of water 
as 51 to 1. This density assigned by Mr. 
Cavendish, is not at all greater than might be 
conjectured, from observations on the vibra¬ 
tions of pendulums. The great Newton had 
long ago advanced it as a probable supposition, 
that the mean density of the earth might be 
about five or six times as great as that of wa¬ 
ter, and the perfect agreement of the result 
of many modern experiments witli this con¬ 
jecture, affords us a new proof, in addition to 
many others, of the accuracy and penetration 
of that illustrious philosopher. 

Truth and Justice are the immutable 
laws of social order. Far from us be the 
dangerous maxim, that it is sometimes useful 
to mislead, to enslave, and to deceive man¬ 
kind, to insure their happiness. Cruel expe¬ 
rience has at all times proved, that with impu¬ 
nity, these sacred laws can never be injured. 


Tiie history of the fall of Babylon may be 
found at large in Herodotus, and in Josephus’s 
Antiquities of the Jews. It is likewise de¬ 
scribed by Strabo, Xenophon, and Diodorus 
Siculus. The profligacy and impiety of 
Belshazzar, king of Babylon, grandson of 
Nebuchadnezzar, had excited the Divine an¬ 
ger, and at the visible interposition of the God 
whom he had derided and blasphemed, he lost 
at once his kingdom and his life. Having 
provided a splendid entertainment for the no- 
I bles of his court, he commanded to be brought 
j the golden cups, those spoils of the Jewish 
temple which Nebuchadnezzar, after his suc¬ 
cessful siege of Jerusalem, had carried into the 
sanctuary of his own god. These splendid 
goblets he ordered to be used by his guests in 
j their drunken revelry: thus not only profaning 
the sacred vessels originally devoted to the 
purposes of the Jewish ceremonial worship, 
but likewise polluting those of his country’s 
gods; as those Jewish vessels had been con¬ 
secrated to the rites of his own religion. This 
double sacrilege did not pass without its retri¬ 
bution. During the feast, the most odious 
blasphemies were uttered by the king and 
the revellers who composed his court. They 
sang praises to those divinities of wood ami 
stone which were the objects of their hollow 
adoration, as if in mockery of Him, who, 
though “mighty to save,” proved to the 
Chaldean king and his nobles, that he is mighty 
also to destroy. 

In the midst of their impious feast, the finger 
of God inscribed their sentence upon the wall 
of the court in which they were audaciously 
deriding him. While in the very act of pro¬ 
faning the sacred vessels, the king perceived, 
to his utter consternation, a hand tracing upon 
the wall in legible characters, the terrible rec¬ 
ord of his doom. Astounded at a sight so 
singular and appalling, he sent for the astrolo¬ 
gers, who at that time were regularly retain¬ 
ed in the eastern courts, together with all per¬ 
sons who had acquired repute as diviners, 
prophets, and interpreters of dreams. F rom 
these he demanded an explanation of the mys¬ 
terious writing. The seal of God, which they 
could not break, was upon it. Amazed and 
confounded, the king dismissed them, and 
called others to unveil the fearful mystery in 
which his destiny appeared to be shrouded. 
No one could read the record. The royal 
blasphemer was abashed, and his conscience 
shrunk from the apprehension of impending 
destruction. 

Nitocris, his mother, a woman of masculine 
energies, who had successfully fortified her 
native city against the Medes and Persians, 
roused the effeminate king from the stupor of 


















Belshazzar's Feast—Daniel interpreting the Handwriting on the Wall. 
























































































































































































































THE FALL OF BABYLON. 281 


despair, by telling him to send for Daniel the 
Jew. This “ servant of the living God,” as 
he is elsewhere styled in Scripture, was then, 
with many of his countrymen, in captivity at 
Babylon, and had rendered himself celebrated 
among the Chaldeans, by having interpreted 
the dreams of Nebuchadnezzar. The king 
accordingly sent for the prophet, and desired 
him to interpret the writing which had baffled 
the penetration of all his wise men. The 
Chaldean monarch promised to bestow upon 
Daniel the third part of his dominions, if he 
should succeed in unfolding the awful mys¬ 
tery still visible upon the wall, where it had 
been traced by a supernatural hand. But, to 
use the words of Josephus,* “ Daniel desired 
that he would keep his gifts to himself; for 
that which is the effect of wisdom and of Di¬ 
vine revelation admits of no gifts, and bestows 
its advantages on petitioners freely ; neverthe¬ 
less, that he would explain the writing to him, 
which denoted that he must soon die, and this, 
because he had not learned to honor God. 
And moreover, because he had quite forgotten 
how Nebuchadnezzar was removed to feed 
among wild beasts for his impieties, and did 
not recover his former life among men and his 
kingdom, but upon God’s mercy to him, after 
many supplications and prayers; who did 
therefore praise God all the days of his life, 
as one of almighty power, and who takes care 
of mankind. Daniel also put Belshazzar in 
mind how greatly he had blasphemed against 
God, and had made use of his sacred vessels 
among his depraved nobles and concubines. 
That, therefore, God seeing this, was dis¬ 
pleased with him, and had declared by this 
.^nting that his life would have a most awful 
termination. He then explained the writing 
as follows.— Mene : This, if it be expounded 
in the Greek language, will signify a number , 
because God has numbered so long a time for 
. thy life and for thy government, and that there 
remains but a small portion.— Tekel : This 
signifies a weight, and means that God has 
weighed thy kingdom in the balance, and finds 
it already on the decline.— Phares : This also, 
in the Greek tongue, signifies a fragment: God 
will therefore break thy kingdom in pieces, 
and divide it among the Medes and Persians.” 

The king was confounded at this interpre¬ 
tation; nevertheless, he bestowed upon Daniel 
what he had promised. Immediately after, 
the city was taken, and Belshazzar put to 
death. The manner of its capture was singu¬ 
lar. About 540 years before the birth of 
Christ, Cyrus the Great had invested the cap¬ 
ital of Chaldea. His armies had been every¬ 
where victorious; yet trusting in the prodi¬ 
gious strength of their city, and the wise coun- 

* Jewish Antiquities, Book x. Chap. xi. 


sels of Nitocris the queen’s mother, the Baby¬ 
lonians derided the efforts of the Persian. 
They had provisions sufficient for a consump¬ 
tion of twenty years. The walls of their city 
were of prodigious strength, being three hun¬ 
dred and fifty feet high, and eighty-seven 
thick. They were built of bricks, formed of 
a material so firm in texture, as to be harder 
than granite. These bricks were cemented 
together with a glutinous earth that in time 
became as hard as the masses which it united. 

In spite of all these mighty obstacles, Cyrus 
resolved upon the reduction of this apparently 
impregnable capital. To this end he con¬ 
structed a number of wooden towers, higher 
than the walls, and made many desperate ef¬ 
forts to carry the place by storm; but every 
attempt was foiled. He next drew a line of 
circumvallation round the city, thus hoping 
to starve the enemy into a surrender. Two 
years were spent in this unavailing blockade, 
when an opportunity presented itself of effect¬ 
ing that purpose by stratagem, which he had 
hitherto failed to accomplish by open force. 
Having heard that the king was about to cele¬ 
brate a great festival, and knowing, from his 
licentious character, that it would be a scene 
of the grossest riot, he posted a part of his 
army close to the spot where the river Eu¬ 
phrates entered the city, and another at the 
opposite side where it passed out, with orders 
to enter the channel wherever it was fordable. 
He then detached a third party to open the 
head of a canal connected with the Euphrates, 
and thus admit the river into the trenches 
which he had opened round the city. By 
these means the river was so completely drain¬ 
ed by midnight, that the troops easily made 
their way along its bed, and the gates upon 
the banks having been left unclosed, in conse¬ 
quence of the revels, or neglected during the 
confusion of the festival, the besiegers found 
no interruption to their progress. Having 
thus penetrated into the heart of the enemy’s 
capital, they met, according to agreement, at 
the gates of the palace. Here, after a feeble 
resistance, they easily overpowered the guards, 
cut to pieces all who opposed them, slew the 
king, and within a few hours received the sub¬ 
mission of Babylon the mighty. From this 
period it ceased to be the metropolis of a king¬ 
dom, and its grandeur rapidly declined. Not 
a memorial now remains of its former great¬ 
ness, and scarcely even a trace of its site. 

“ Where now are Troy and mightier Babylon ? 

On their proud site the earth is wild and bare, 

O’er them stern Time has a full victory won, 

And they are mingled with the things that were. 
Thus works destruction ; from his secret lair 
He skulks abroad to mar what man has made;— 
Decay, slow mining, meets us everywhere. 

Earth’s pageantries are fugitive—here fade 

All things alike—the debts of nature must be paid." 











The Fall of Babylon. 



































































































































































































































































































i 


INDIANS IN OREGON. 283 


In the engraving of the fall of Babylon, the 
artist has endeavored to exhibit the Chaldean 
capital at the height of its glory. In the dis¬ 
tance, the mighty tower of Babel, which he 
supposes to have been still standing upon the 
plains of Shinar, rears its stupendous bulk, 
hiding its summit in the clouds, a monument 
of human presumption and human impotency. 

The high tower upon the bank of the river 
is the celebrated temple of Belus, the external 
buildings of which were raised by Nebuchad¬ 
nezzar. This huge tower was six hundred 
feet square at the base, and the same number 
of feet high. The temple was set apart for 
the worship of Baal, and the treasure contain¬ 
ed within its walls, in the palmy days of the 
Chaldean empire, has been estimated at forty- 
two millions sterling. 

Upon the right of the temple of Belus, as 
the spectator faces the water on that side, 
stands the palace of Semiramis, four miles in 
circumference. To this extraordinary woman 
Babylon first owed its greatness. She left 
everywhere immortal monuments of her genius 
and of her power. She was the greatest war¬ 
rior of her time. To facilitate communica¬ 
tion with her capital, she hollowed mount¬ 
ains and filled up valleys, and water was con¬ 
veyed at a vast expense by immense aqueducts, 
to deserts and unfruitful plains. 

The bridge seen in our engraving was built 
by Nitocris, the mother of Belshazzar. In 
the right-hand corner of the engraving is seen 
the palace of Nebuchadnezzar, eight miles in 
circumference, and surmounted by the cele¬ 
brated hanging gardens. These occupied a 
square of four hundred feet on every side, and 
consisted of spacious terraces raised one above 
the other, until they reached the height of the 
city walls. The whole pile was sustained by 
immense arches, built upon other arches, and 
supported on either side by a wall twenty-two 
feet thick. 

The crowd w r hich appears in the bed of the 
river is the enemy setting fire to the Babylo¬ 
nian navy. On the right of these is the Per¬ 
sian horse headed by Cyrus. The group in 
the near foreground consists of the king, and 
a party of the enemy; the.se attack and destroy 
him in sight of several of his concubines, who 
had escaped with him from the palace. 

Plere is one of those awful pages in the 
records of time, which may be summed up in 
this brief exclamation, “ How are the mighty 
fallen!'» 


The lust of dominion innovates so imper¬ 
ceptibly, that we become complete despots be¬ 
fore our wanton abuse of power is perceived; 
the tyranny first exercised in the nursery is 
exhibited in various shapes and degrees in 
every stage of our existence. 


INDIANS IN OREGON. 

We will first describe the Indians of the 
plains. These live in the upper country from 
the falls of the Columbia to the Rocky mount¬ 
ains, and are called the Indians of the plains, 
because a large proportion of their country is 
prairie land. The principal tribes are the 
Nez Perces, Cayuses, Walla Wallas, Banax, 
Shoshones, Spokeins, Flatheads, Cceur de 
Lions, Ponderas, Cootanies, Kettlefalls, Oka- 
nagans, and Carriers. These do not include 
probably metre than one half of those east of 
the falls; but of others we have obtained but 
little definite knowledge. These all resemble 
each other in general characteristics. In their 
persons the men are tall, the women are of 
common stature, and both men and women are 
well formed. While there is a strong natural, 
as well as moral resemblance among all In¬ 
dians, the complexion of these is much the 
same as other Indians, excepting a little fairer. 
Their hair and eyes are black, their cheek¬ 
bones high, and very frequently they have 
aquiline noses. Their hands, feet, and ankles, 
are small and well formed; and their move¬ 
ments are easy, if not graceful. They wear 
their hair long, part it upon their forehead, 
and let it hang in tresses on each side, or down 
behind. 

There is a great resemblance in their dress, 
which generally consists of a shirt, worn over 
long close leggins, with moccasins for their 
feet. These are of dressed leather made of 
the skins of deer, antelope, mountain goats, 
and sheep; and over these they wear a blanket 
or buffalo robe. The borders of their garments 
are ornamented with long fringes, after the 
manner of the ancient Jews. They are fond 
of ornaments, and according to their means, 
their heads and garments are decorated with 
feathers, beads, buttons, and porcupine quills; 
the last of which are colored red, yellow, blue, 
and black, and worked with great skill and 
variety of design. They appear to have less 
of the propensity to adorn themselves with 
painting, than the Indians east of the mount¬ 
ains; but still at their toilet, vermilion, mixed 
with red clay, is used upon their faces and hair. 
The dress of the women does not vary much 
from the men, excepting, that, instead of the 
shirts, they have what may be called a frock 
coming down to the ankles. Many of them 
wear a large cape made of the same material, 
and often highly ornamented with large oblong 
beads of blue, red, purple, and white, arranged 
in curved lines covering the whole. Some of 
the daughters of the chiefs, when clothed in 
their clean white dresses made of antelope 
skins, with their fully ornamented capes com¬ 
ing down to the waist, and mounted upon 
spirited steeds, going at full speed, their or- 













2S4 INDIANS IN OREGON. 


naments glittering in tlie sunbeams, make an 
appearance that would not lose in comparison 
with equestrian ladies of the east. 

Their horses are not less finely caparisoned 
with blue and scarlet trimmings about their 
heads, breasts, and loins, hung with little brass 
bells. 

While a want of cleanliness is a character¬ 
istic of all heathen, the Indians of the plains 
are less reprehensible than others, and far 
more neat than those of the lower country 
toward the Pacific. It is not to be understood 
that there are not those who are poor, suffer¬ 
ing from the want of food and clothing. 

Their wealth consists in their horses, and, 
in a great degree, their consequence upon the 
number they possess; some owning several 
hundreds; and that family is poor whose num¬ 
bers are not sufficient for every man, woman, 
and child, to be mounted, when they are trav¬ 
elling from place to place; and also to carry 
all their effects. In these respects they are 
far better supplied than any tribes we saw 
east of the mountains. While their horses 
are their wealth, they derive but little from 
them for the support of themselves and fami¬ 
lies ; for they do not employ them to cultivate 
the earth ; and the market for them is so low, 
that they command but a small price. A 
good horse will not sell for more than enough 
to purchase a blanket, or a few small articles 
of merchandise. For subsistence, they, of 
necessity, depend upon hunting and fishing, 
and gathering roots and berries. Their mode 
of cooking is plain and simple. Most of their 
food is roasted, and their excel in roasting fish. 
The process is to build in the centre of their 
lodge a small fire, to fix the fish upon a stick 
two feet long, and to place one end in the 
ground, so as to bring the fish partly over the 
fire, and then, by a slow process, it is most 
thoroughly roasted without any scorching, or 
scarcely changing the color. The principal 
art consists in taking time, and our best cooks 
might improve by following their mode. 

Their habits. The habits of Indians are 
said to be indolent. As a general remark it 
may be true, but we saw but very little to 
confirm its truth among the Indians of the 
plains ; for we rarely saw any of these Indians 
without their being engaged in some object of 
pursuit; not the most productive, perhaps, 
but such as enlisted their attention. While 
we believe in the striking resemblance, both 
physical and moral, of all the different nations 
and tribes of Indians spread over large portions 
of the continent of America, more so than is 
seen in any people of any other country of 
equal extent; yet, if it is true, that as a gen¬ 
eral fact, they are morose and gloomy in their 
countenances; sullen, or bacchanalian in their 
dispositions; that they are rarely so joyful as 


I to laugh, unless excited by ardent spirits; that 
[ they are taciturn and never indulge in mirth; 

! that they are obtuse in sympathy, and destitute 
! of social affections; that in proud disdain they 
turn away from whatever would excite curi¬ 
osity ; that no common motives or endearments 
excite them to action; if these things are true, 
then the Indians in the Oregon territory are 
an exception to the general fact. In all the 
abovenamed particulars, we saw no special 
difference between them and other nations. 
As a part of the human family, they have the 
same natural propensities, and the same social 
affections. They are cheerful and often gay, 
sociable, kind, and affectionate; and anxious 
to receive instruction in whatever may con¬ 
duce to their happiness here and hereafter. 
It is worse than idle to speak of “physical 
insensibility inwrought into the animal nature 
of the Indians, so that their bodies approximate 
to the insensibility of horses’ hoofs.” The in¬ 
fluence of this kind of remarks is to produce, 
in the bosoms of all who read them, the same 
insensibility which is charged upon the native 
character of the Indians. To represent their 
characters and their restoration to the com¬ 
mon feelings of humanity so hopeless, is to 
steel the heart of even Christianity itself, if 
it were possible, against all sympathy, and to 
paralyze all exertions and efforts to save them 
from the twofold destruction to which they 
doom them, temporal and eternal. Is this 
the reason that Christians are sitting in such 
supineness over their condition, and the heart- 
thrilling appeals from them for teachers to 
enlighten them? Is this the reason, that 
while the philanthropy of the United States’ 
citizens toward them is so widely blazoned, 
that those, who are sent to teach them the arts 
of civilized life, are sitting quiet on the borders 
in governmental pay, while the Indians are 
roaming still over the prairies in search of un¬ 
certain and precarious game ? We forbear to 
tell the story. 

They have but a few manufactures, and 
those few are the most plain and simple, not 
extending much beyond dressing the skins of 
animals, and making them into clothing; ma¬ 
king bows and arrows, and some few articles 
of furniture. In dressing their skins, they 
never make any use of bark, or tanning in any 
way. Their process is to remove the hair and 
flesh from the skins, by scraping them with a 
hard stone or wood, or, when it can be obtain¬ 
ed, a piece of iron hoop, and then besmearing 
them with the brains of some animal, they 
smoke them thoroughly, and rub them until 
they are. soft; and after this bleach them with 
pure white clay. Their mode of smoking, is 
to dig or excavate a small place in the ground, 
about a foot deep, and over this to construct 
a small fixture in the form of a lodge, a few 












THE MIGRATION OF BIRDS. 285 


feet wide at the base, and brought to a point 
at the top. Then they build a small fire in 
the centre, and place the skins around upon 
the framework, so as to make the enclosure 
almost smoke tight. The process occupies 
about one day. Their mode of dressing buf¬ 
falo-robes is different. It is by stretching the 
skin upon the ground, flesh-side up, fastening 
it down with pins around the border. Then 
with an instrument formed somewhat, like a 
cooper’s adz, made of stone, or wood overlaid 
with a piece of iron, brought to a blunt edge, 
like a currier’s knife, they clear from it "all 
remaining flesh, and let it thoroughly dry. 
Alter this, with the same instrument, they 
work upon it with a pounding, hewing stroke, 
until they have brought it to a suitable thick¬ 
ness, and rendered it soft and white, in the 
same condition as our buffalo-robes are, when 
brought into market. It is a work of great 
labor performed by women. We little think 
how much toil it costs a woman to prepare 
one of these robes, and then how little is paid 
for it by the purchaser; a pound of tobacco, 
or a bunch of beads, is as much as the Indian 
generally receives. 

Their bows are made of the most elastic 
wood, strengthened with the tendons of ani¬ 
mals, glued upon the back side, and a string 
made of the same substance. Their arrows 
are made of heavy wood, with one end tipped 
with a sharp stone or pointed iron, and the 
other end pinnated with a feather. While 
the first is to pierce, the latter is to govern the 
direction. Their bows and arrows perform 
astonishing execution, and they manage them 
with great dexterity. 

Most of their cooking utensils, which they 
now use, are obtained from traders. These 
do not often extend beyond a brass kettle, tin 
pail, and a very few knives. They have 
bowls which they manufacture very ingenious¬ 
ly from the horns of buffalo ; and sometimes, 
those that are large and more solid, from the 
horn of the big-horned mountain sheep. They 
have spoons of very good structure, made of 
buffalo-horns; also, they have various kinds 
of baskets of rude workmanship. Their sad¬ 
dles are rude, somewhat resembling the Span¬ 
ish saddle, having a high knob forward, and 
rising high on the back part, generally sitting 
uneasy upon the horse’s back. Their bridles 
are only a rope, well made of hair, or the shag 
of the buffalo, fastened to the under jaw of the 
horse, very long, so as to form the lasso ; this 
is so coiled in the hand as to form a noose 
when thrown over the horse’s head, which is 
done very dexterously; and when they are 
mounted, the rope, or leather thong, which is 
often used in its place, trails along upon the 
ground. This is often left upon the horse’s 
neck, when he is turned out for a short time 


to feed, for the convenience of more easily 
catching him. 

Their canoes, before they obtained iron 
hatchets of the traders, were, with great labor 
and patience, made with hatchets of stone; 
and even now, it is with no small effort. A 
canoe of good construction is valued as high 
as one or two good horses. Their fishing nets 
are another article which is well constructed, 
formed of wild flax; and in every particular 
like our scoop nets. 


THE MIGRATION OF BIRDS. 

“ As fables tell, an Indian sage, 

The Hindostani woods among, 

Could, in his desert hermitage, 

As if ’twere marked in written page, 
Translate the wild bird's song. 

" I wish I did his power possess, 

That I might learn, fleet bird, from thee, 
What our vain systems only guess, 

And know from what wide wilderness 
You came across the sea.” 

The migration of the feathered race has 
occupied much attention, and afforded subject 
for many interesting inquiries, from a very 
early period. Nor is the topic exhausted ; 
numerous important facts still remain unex¬ 
plained ; and a vast field for observation still 
presents itself to scientific search. 

Birds migrate northward and southward ; 
so that there is in our latitudes at least a pe¬ 
riodical ebb and tide of spring and winter 
visiters. The former gradually work their 
way, as the season advances, from the warm 
regions of the south, where they have enjoyed 
food and sunshine, and have escaped the rigors 
of our winter, and arrive here to cheer us with 
their songs, and to make our summer months 
still more delightful. The latter, being in¬ 
habitants of the arctic circle, and finding in 
the forests and morasses of that region a suffi¬ 
cient supply of food in summer, are only led 
to quit their homes when the early winter be¬ 
gins to bind up the lakes and the surface of 
the earth, and to deprive them of sustenance. 
It is then that they seek our milder shores; 
and, accordingly, at the season when our sum¬ 
mer visitants are leaving us to proceed on their 
journey southward, these songless inhabitants 
of the north arrive to take their places, and 
to feed on such winter fruits and berries, and 
such insects and aquatic plants, as are denied 
to their own inhospitable climate. These 
visiters, though mute, are of no mean value; 
for many of them are esteemed as delicate 
food; and, in consequence, the redwing, field¬ 
fare, woodcock, snipe, widgeon, &c., are wont 
to receive homage and admiration from those 
who could listen to the sweet warblings of the 












2S6 THE MIGRATION OF BIRDS. 


nightingale or the tender cooings of the turtle¬ 
dove with perfect indifference. 

The visits of these birds, as well as of those 
from the south, depend greatly on the state 
of the weather, which appears to hasten or 
retard their flight as the season may be. 
Thus, we often And that a few of our summer 
birds leave the main body, and arrive sooner 
than the rest, while the others have been kept 
back by a sudden return of unfavorable weather, 
according to the adage, “One swallow does not 
make a summer.” It is a singular fact, that 
the early-comers are male birds, arriving, as 
it would seem, in search of a fit spot to which 
to introduce their mates. The bird-catchers 
are aware of this, and prepare their traps 
accordingly, so that nightingales and other 
singing-birds are often snared on their first 
arrival, and spend the short remainder of their 
lives in captivity. Many birds return not 
only to the same country, but to the very spot 
they left in the preceding season, a fact which 
has been ascertained by catching and marking 
some of them, while other birds do not con¬ 
fine themselves to a particular country, but 
range from one to another, as circumstances 
may dictate. 

It has been observed that certain migratory 
birds do not leave their summer abode, unless 
the winter is to be one of unusual severity. 
This fact is surprising, and the question, “By 
what means is the bird instructed as to the 
coming season ?” naturally presents itself to 
the mind, but still remains unanswered. What 
their instinctive knowledge is, and whether 
they have any power of reflecting on the 
phenomena by which they are surrounded, 
will ever probably be a mystery to us; but 
we may trace in this, as in numberless other 
instances, the care and wise management of a 
superintending Providence, by which creatures 
small and insignificant in the scale of creation 
are led to choose the climate most favorable 
to them, and to hasten toward another region 
just at the period when a longer tarry in the 
one they inhabit would be fatal to them. 

“ Where the northern ocean, in vast whirls 
Boils round the naked melancholy isles 
Of furthest Thule, and the Atlantic surge 
Pours in among the stormy Hebrides, 

Who can recount what transmigrations there 
Are annual made ? what nations come and go ? 
And how the living clouds on clouds arise ? 
Infinite wings! till all the plume-dark air 
And rude resounding shore are one wild cry.” 

Most birds perform their migrations during 
the night; but there are some that travel only 
by day, and others that stop not either by 
night or by day. Among the first are the owl, 
blackbird, &c., and a great number of aquatic 
birds; among those that travel by day, are the 
crow, pie, titmouse, wren, woodpecker, chaf¬ 
finch, goldfinch, lark, swallow, and some oth¬ 


ers ; and of those which do not intermit their 
flight are the heron, wagtail, yellowhammer, 
stork, crane, plover, swan, and wild goose. 
These choose a bright moonlight season in 
which to set out on their journey. 

The flight of birds has been estimated from 
fifty to a hundred and fifty miles an hour, 
though some heavy birds scarcely exceed thirty 
miles an hour. Bishop Stanley mentions, in 
his “ Familiar History of Birds,” an easy way 
by which the flight of birds may be determin¬ 
ed with tolerable accuracy. Supposing any 
bird—a partridge, for instance—should rise 
from the middle of the stubble, and fly a 
straight line over a hedge, all the observer 
has to do is to note by the second’s hand of a 
watch the number of seconds between the 
bird’s rising and that of its topping the hedge ; 
and then ascertain the distance between the 
point whence it rose and the hedge, by stepping 
and counting the number of paces; when, sup¬ 
posing each pace to be a yard, we have a 
common rule-of-three sum. Thus, if a part¬ 
ridge in three seconds flies one hundred yards, 
how many yards will it fly in thirty-six hun¬ 
dred seconds, or one hour ? 

Another method of ascertaining the flight 
of birds is by carrier-pigeons. The same 
author tells us of a recent instance, in which 
fifty-six of these birds were brought over from 
Holland, and set at liberty in London. They 
were turned out at half-past four o’clock in 
the morning, and all reached their dove-cots 
at home by noon; but one favorite pigeon, 
called “Napoleon,” arrived about a quarter 
before ten o’clock, having performed the dis¬ 
tance of three hundred miles at the rate of 
above fifty miles an hour, supposing he lost 
not a moment and proceeded in a straight line; 
but, as they usually wheel about in the air for 
some time before they start, the first bird 
must have flown, most likely, at a still quick¬ 
er rate. 

It is probable that most birds perform their 
journey to distant countries by stages of a 
few hours’ flight, resting and recruiting their 
strength in convenient situations. We need 
not suppose them often to cross the wide ex¬ 
panse of the ocean, but take it at its narrowest 
portions, as the channel between France and 
England, the Mediterranean, &c., and so pur¬ 
suing their way across the continent. Their 
power of remaining on the wing does not ex¬ 
cite so much surprise as do the motives which 
lead them to undertake such distant flights, 
and the instinct which guides them so unerring¬ 
ly in their aerial course; for though we have 
named the deficiency of food as one of the 
probable causes of migration, this does not ap¬ 
ply in many cases; and we are more and 
more at a loss to account for the facts relating 
to several species of the feathered race. 









THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 


Of all migrating birds the cranes may 
perhaps be considered the most remarkable. 
They seem to be most endowed with foresight, 
and have every appearance of consultation 
and regular preparation for the time of their 
departure. They utter peculiar cries several 
days before, and assemble with much noise 
and bustle. They then form themselves into 
two lines, making an angle, at the vortex of 
which one of their number, who is looked 
upon as the general director of their proceed¬ 
ings, takes his place. The office of the leader 
seems to be to exercise authority and issue 
orders to the whole party, to guide them in 
inclement weather in their circling flight, to 
give the signal for their descent, feeding, &c. 
Piercing cries are heard, as if commanding 
and answering to the command. If the lead¬ 
er grows tired, his place is taken by the next 
bird, while he retires to the end of the line ; 
and thus their orderly flight is accomplished. 

In order that birds may fly with ease and 
continue long on the wing, they must fly 
against the wind ; and patiently do they wait 
for a favorable time in this respect. The sud¬ 
den change of the wind will sometimes cause 
numbers of quails, which are heavy in their 
flight, to be drowned in crossing the Mediter¬ 
ranean sea. Yet there are certain seafaring 
birds so wonderfully endowed as to remain 
almost continually on the wing, and which 
are often found at the distance of more than a 
thousand miles from land. The gigantic al¬ 
batross is one of these, with its enormous ex¬ 
panse of wing, measuring fourteen feet, or 
even more, from tip to tip. But the bird 
which surpasses all others in its power of 
flight is the frigate-bird, which seldom visits 
the land except at the breeding season, and is 
never seen to swim or rest upon the waters. 
With such an instance of adaptation to the 
regions of the air, we need no longer wonder 
at the power by which our birds are enabled 
to remain so long on the wing as to perform 
their periodical migration to other lands. 

“ Ye tell us a tale of the beautiful earth, 

Birds that oversweep it in power and mirth ; 
Yet. through the wastes of the trackless air, 

Ye have a guide; and shall we despair ? 

Ye over desert and deep have passed: 

So shall we reach our bright home at last.” 


THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, 

The circulation of our language , will seem 
to us no slight advantage, when we think on 
its long consecration as the vehicle of religious 
ideas and of noble sentiments. In libraries, 
where now it is almost impossible to think of 
such a collection, the minds of our theologians 


2S7 


and moralists will be presented and embalmed. 
Suffering no injury from translation, the ori¬ 
ginals will be explored. Intercourse will find 
the benefit of such a medium. Of such a 
speech who but can be proud? In all the 
properties of a language it is great. Its thril¬ 
ling vocables, its significant powers, its fine 
discriminations, its majestic compounds, leave 
us nothing to desire. Its tones stir like a clarion 
and sooth like a lute. There is a philosophic 
radix and a multitudinous expression. It has 
incorporated each image of nature, and attuned 
itself to every chord of sympathy. In it men 
have been accustomed to think with vigor and 
freedom, until it is only fit for the independent 
and the free. The treasures imbedded in it 
are confessedly unparalleled. It has not been 
unfashionable to depreciate it and to declaim 
against its uncouthness, asperity, and poverty. 
Of the justice of these charges we are very 
skeptical. Though it declines to admit, and is 
incapable of receiving, the trivial, the unnation¬ 
al, and the unnatural—it loves to adopt some 
sterling dialect—magnificent stores—sump¬ 
tuous tributes—such as Plato expounded and 
Cicero enunciated. The scions grafted on it are 
quickly converted to its own temperament and 
fibre. At this moment science has made it 
her favorite hold, and our literature stamps 
upon it an undecaying permanence. It is 
“married to immortal verse.” It must always 
be studied, should it ever become obsolete 
and dead : its poetry, its criticism, its legisla¬ 
tion, its science, its ethics, insure it an im¬ 
mortality. Commerce repeats it, new worlds 
invoke it as their parent speech, and we dic¬ 
tate it to our antipodes. Without an augury, 
we may predict its course. It bears with it 
a train of master-spirits. Wherever the emi¬ 
grant wander he will talk it, though it be on¬ 
ly to the echoes. Wherever the lion-standard 
or the eagle-banner sweeps the air and flaps 
to the wind, the settler loves to sing his native 
lays. Rivers unknown to song, forests which 
the axe is just beginning to thin of the trunks 
which centuries have rooted, deserts in which 
until almost now the beast of prey prowled 
unmolested and not a flower grew—resound to 
the words of our households, our exchanges, 
our temples! Who can but exult that the 
strong, the vivid, the flowing language, which 
in our infancy we lisped, seems destined to 
become the utterance of knowledge, of virtue, 
of freedom! the passport, through the nations, 
of generous and manly sentiment, of pure and 
exquisite emotion! the signal-cry to the de¬ 
sponding spirit of patriotism ! the key-note of 
the uplifted chorus of liberty! the holy ac¬ 
cents by which Christianity shall proclaim its 
message of peace and good-will to men ! As 
from an urn, or rather a river-source, what bless¬ 
ings will our idiom pour out upon the world! 












2S8 


CURIOUS CLOCK. 



CURIOUS CLOCK. 

The ingenious piece of workmanship which 
our engraving represents, was for more than 
two centuries in the possession of the court 
of the popes of Rome; and was subsequently 
the property of William the First, king of 
the Netherlands. 

Its construction is very interesting, as show¬ 
ing the state of clock-making toward the 
close of the sixteenth century ; as well as by 
the original airs it performs, affording an idea 
of the taste for music in those times. 


The entire fabric bears decided proof of 
having been produced by manual labor, with¬ 
out any other assistance than the bench of the 
turner and the file. It had the ancient motive 
power; the pendulum being a later invention 
of the celebrated Christian Huygens, a native 
of the Netherlands, who applied it to the 
movement of clocks in 1657 ; and it has since 
been added to the present clock. 

The design consists of a tower, divided in¬ 
to three stories, with doors of strongly gilt 
copper, tastefully chased and ornamented, and 
supported by twelve columns of strongly gilt 

























































































































































































































































































































































THE HEAD-STONE. 


copper. In front of the lower story, within 
a square chamber, is a large dial plate, which 
moves round its whole circuit only once a 
year: it shows also, the date of the month, 
and all the catholic feasts and holy days 
throughout the year. In the centre is a small 
plate, very curiously chased, representing the 
twelve signs of the zodiac, with the sun and 
moon pursuing their course, so that at one 
glance we can ascertain in what sign of the 
zodiac they are at the time. Within this cir¬ 
cle is a small globe, pointing out the proper 
phases and aspects of the moon ; and within 
all this are the fixed stars setting, namely, the 
Serpent, Orion, Great Bear, Casseiopeia, &c. 
The four corners of this chamber are emblem¬ 
atically engraved with the names of those na¬ 
tions who have conquered kingdoms at an 
early period. 

In front of the second story are the minutes 
and minute-hand, and on each side are two 
silver figures, one hand of these figures point¬ 
ing to the minutes, the other hand being set 
in motion by mechanism : during the striking 
of the clock, the one figure turns the hour¬ 
glass, as an emblem of time, the other wields 
the sickle of death. Above each of the sil¬ 
ver figures is a Latin verse ; and in the mid¬ 
dle of the plate is a simple, yet correctly 
mathematical representation of how the glob¬ 
ular form of the earth is perceptible to the 
eye. Above, the minute-hand describes a 
circuit of 24 hours, each half of the dial- 
plate containing 12 hours ; the day hours be¬ 
ing marked with the image of the sun, and 
the hours of the night with the image of the 
moon. On the four corners of the dial-plate 
are engraved the four seasons of the year. 

The third story also consists of four divis¬ 
ions, which project in the manner of a balcony. 
Round the centre of the lower division move 
the seven silver figures of heathen gods, in 
chariots; every deity makes its appearance 
once in seven days, exactly in front, where it 
remains for 24 hours, when it is relieved by 
the next; these godheads represent the seven 
days of the week. 

In the centre of the second division is an 
image of the virgin, holding her son Jesus in 
her arms; two angels are seen placing crowns 
and garlands on her head; and during the 
performance of the bells, several angels make 
their appearance, making their obeisance be¬ 
fore the image of Mary and the Savior. 

Within the centre of the third division is a 
metal bell pending on a gilt plate of copper, 
on which is represented the judgment day. 
Round this metal plate move four silver fig¬ 
ures, set in motion by mechanism, represent¬ 
ing the four states of social life. These ima- 

o 

ges point out the quarters of the hour, by 
striking the bell; the first quarter is represen¬ 


289 


ted by a youth, the second by a grave citi¬ 
zen, the third by a Roman soldier, and the 
fourth by a priest. 

In the fourth division is likewise a metal 
bell, on the sides of which there are cham¬ 
bers ; on the left side is the representation of 
Death, proclaiming the hours of day and 
night by striking the bell; above it may be 
seen a Latin inscription, from Romans, vii. 
23. To the right side is the image of the 
Savior, stepping forward, with the"globe in 
his hand, and above it the cross. This figure 
proceeds every two minutes, in a slow man¬ 
ner, and then for a moment, hides itself from 
view; above it is a Latin verse, from the 
prophet Hosea, chapter xiii. 

These two figures are of massive silver; 
behind the bell is inscribed the name of the 
artist, and the date 1589. 

The whole is covered with copper, beauti¬ 
fully worked in filagree ; on the extreme top 
is stationed a cock, which at the close of the 
chiming of the bells, spreads its wings, opens 
its beak, and crows ; after which it resumes 
its former position. 

On the side doors are painted and gilt fig¬ 
ures of the Virtues, with flowers, obelisks, 
and other ornaments ; and within are figures 
of the Fates. These exquisite figures are 
stated to have been engraved by the pupils. 

This clock is also stated to have been made 
by Habrecht, for Pope Sixtus V.; and in 
many respects resembles the famous Strasburg 
clock. 


THE HEAD-STONE. 

The coffin was let down to the bottom of 
the grave, the planks were removed from the 
heaped-up brink, the first rattling clods had 
struck their knell, their quick shovelling was 
over, and the long, broad, skilfully-cut pieces 
of turf were aptly joined together, and trimly 
laid by the beating-spade, so that the newest 
mound in the church-yard was scarcely dis¬ 
tinguishable from those that were grown over 
by the undisturbed grass and daisies of a 
luxuriant spring. The burial was soon over ; 
and the party, with one consenting motion, 
having uncovered their heads, in decent rev¬ 
erence of the place and occasion, were begin¬ 
ning to separate, and about to leave the church¬ 
yard. 

Here some acquaintances, from distant parts 
of the parish, who had not had opportunity 
of addressing each other in the house that had 
belonged to the deceased, nor in the course 
of the few hundred yards that the little pro¬ 
cession had to move over from his bed to his 


19 











THE HEAD-STONE. 


290 


grave, were shaking hands quietly but cheer¬ 
fully, and inquiring after the welfare of each 
other’s families. There, a small knot of 
neighbors were speaking, without exaggera¬ 
tion, of the respectable character the deceased 
had borne, and mentioning to one another little 
incidents of his life, some of them so remote 
as to be known only to the gray-headed per¬ 
sons of the group. While a few yards further 
removed from the spot, were standing together 
parties who discussed ordinary concerns, such 
as the state of the markets, the promise of the 
season, or change of tenants; but still with 
a sobriety of manner and voice that was in¬ 
sensibly produced by the influence of the sim¬ 
ple ceremony now closed, by the quiet graves 
around, and the shadow of the spire, and gray 
walls of the house of God. 

Two men yet stood together at the head of 
the grave with countenances of sincere, but 
unimpassioned grief. They were brothers, 
the only sons of him who had been buried. 
And there was something in their situation that 
naturally kept the eyes of many directed upon 
them, for a long time, and more intently than 
would have been the case, had there been 
nothing more observable about them than the 
common symptoms of a common sorrow. But 
these two brothers, who were now standing at 
the head of their father’s grave, had for some 
years been totally estranged from each other, 
and the only words that had passed between 
them during all that time, had been uttered 
within a few days past, during the necessary 
preparations for the old man’s funeral. 

No deep and deadly quarrel was between 
these brothers, and neither of them could dis¬ 
tinctly tell the cause of this unnatural estrange¬ 
ment. Perhaps dim jealousies of their father’s 
favor—selfish thoughts that will sometimes 
force themselves into poor men’s hearts, re¬ 
specting temporal expectations—unaccommo¬ 
dating manners on both sides—taunting words 
that mean little when uttered, but which 
rankle and fester in remembrance—imagined 
opposition of interests, that, duly considered, 
would have been found one and the same— 
these, and many other causes, slight when 
single, but strong when rising up together in 
one baneful band, had gradually but fatally 
infected their hearts, till at last they who in 
youth had been seldom separate, and truly at¬ 
tached, now met at market, and, miserable to 
say, at church, with dark and averted faces 
like different clansmen during a feud. 

Surely if anything could have softened their 
hearts toward each other, it must have been 
to stand silently, side by side, while the earth, 
stones, and clods, were falling down upon their 
father’s coffin. And doubtless their hearts 
were so softened. But pride, though it can 
not prevent the holy affections of nature from 


being felt, may prevent them from being 
shown; and these two brothers stood there 
together, determined not to let each other 
know the mutual tenderness that, in spite of 
them, was gushing up in their hearts, and 
teaching them the unconfessed folly and wick¬ 
edness of their causeless quarrel. 

A head-stone had been prepared, and a per¬ 
son came forward to plant it. The elder 
brother directed him how to place it—a plain 
stone, with a sand-glass, skull, and cross- 
bones, chiselled not rudely, and a few words 
inscribed. The younger brother regarded the 
operation with a troubled eye, and said, loud 
enough to be heard by several of the by¬ 
standers, “William, this was not kind in you: 
you should have told me of this. I loved my 
father as well as you could love him. You 
were the elder, and, it may be, the favorite 
son; but I had a right in nature to have 
joined you in ordering this head-stone, had 
I not ?” 

During these words the stone was sinking 
into the earth, and many persons who were 
on their way from the grave returned. For a 
while the elder brother said nothing, for he 
had a consciousness in his heart that he ought 
to have consulted his father’s son in designing 
this last becoming mark of affection and respect 
to his memory; so the stone was planted in 
silence, and now stood erect, among the other 
unostentatious memorials of the humble dead. 

The inscription merely gave the name and 
age of the deceased, and told that the stone had 
been erected “by his affectionate sons.” The 
sight of these words seemed to soften the dis¬ 
pleasure of the angry man, and he said, some¬ 
what more mildly, “ Yes, we were his affec¬ 
tionate sons, and since my name is on the 
stone, I am satisfied, brother. We have not 
drawn together kindly of late years, and per¬ 
haps never may; but I acknowledge and 
respect your worth, and here, before our own 
friends, and before the friends of our father, 
with my foot above his head, 1 express my 
willingness to be on other and better terms 
with you, and if we can not command love in 
our hearts, let us, at least, brother, bar out all 
unkindness.” 

The minister, who had attended the funeral, 
and had something intrusted to him to say 
publicly before he left the church-yard, now 
came forward and asked the elder brother, 
why he spake not regarding this matter. He 
saw there was something of a cold and sullen 
pride rising up in his heart, for not easily may 
any man hope to dismiss from the chamber 
of his heart even the vilest guest, if once 
cherished there. With a solemn and almost 
severe air, he looked upon the relenting man, 
and then, changing his countenance into se¬ 
renity, said gently:— 









NATURAL THEOLOGY. 


“ Behold how good a thing it is, 

And how becoming well, 

Together such as brethren are 
In unity to dwell.” 

The time, the place, and this beautiful ex¬ 
pression of a natural sentiment, quite over¬ 
came a heart, in which many kind, if not 
warm, affections dwelt; and the man thus ap¬ 
pealed to bowed down his head and wept. 
“Give me your hand, brother;” and it was 
given, while a murmur of satisfaction arose 
from all present, and all hearts felt kindlier 
and more humanely toward each other. 

As the' brothers stood fervently, but com¬ 
posedly, grasping each other’s hand, in the 
little hollow that lay between the grave of 
their mother, long since dead, and of their 
father, whose shroud was haply not yet still 
from the fall of dust to dust, the minister stood 
beside them with a pleasant countenance, and 
said, “ I must fulfil the promise I made to 
your father on his death-bed. I must read to 
you a few words which his hand wrote at an 
hour when his tongue denied its office. I 
must not say that you did your duty to your 
old father; for did he not often beseech you, 
apart from one another, to be reconciled, for 
your own sakes as Christians, for his sake, and 
for the sake of the mother who bare you, and, 
Stephen, who died that you might be born ? 
When the palsy struck him for the last time, 
you were both absent, nor was it your fault 
that you were not beside the old man when 
he died. 

“As long as sense continued with him here, 
did he think of you two, and of you two alone. 
Tears were in his eyes; I saw them there, 
and on his cheek, too, when no breath came 
from his lips. But of this no more. He died 
with this paper in his hand ; and he made me 
know that I was to read it to you over his 
grave. I now obey him. ‘ My sons, if you 
will let my bones lie quiet in the grave, near 
the dust of your mother, depart not from my 
burial till, in the name of God and Christ, you 
promise to love one another as you used to do. 
Dear boys, receive my blessing.’ ” 

Some turned their heads away to hide the 
tears that needed not to be hidden ; and when 
the brothers had released each from a long 
and sobbing embrace, many went up to them, 
and in a single word or two, expressed their 
joy at this perfect reconcilement. The broth¬ 
ers themselves walked away from the church¬ 
yard, arm in arm with the minister to the 
manse. On the following sabbath, they were 
seen sitting with their families in the same 
pew, and it was observed, that they read 
together off't he same Bible when the minister 
ga*ve out the text, and that they sang together, 
taking hold of the psalm-book. The same 
psalm was sung (given out at their own re¬ 


291 


quest), of which one verse had been repeated 
at their father’s grave ; a larger sum than 
usual was on that sabbath found in the plate 
for the poor, for love and charity are sisters. 
And ever after, during both the peace and the 
troubles of this life, the heart of the brothers 
were as one, and in nothing were they divided. 


NATURAL THEOLOGY. 

Natural theology tells of the creation of 
all things—of the mighty power that fashioned 
and that sustains the universe ; of the exquis¬ 
ite skill that contrived the wings, and beak, 
and feet of insects invisible to the naked eye, 
and that lighted the lamp of day, and launched 
into space comets a thousand times larger than 
the earth, whirling a million of times swifter 
than a cannon-ball, and burning with a heat 
which a thousand centuries could not quench. 
It exceeds the bounds of material existence, 
and raises us from the creation to the Author 
of nature. Its office is not only to mark what 
things are, but for what purpose they were 
made by the infinite wisdom of an all-power¬ 
ful Being, with whose existence and attributes 
its high prerogative is to bring us acquainted. 
.... Persons of such lives as should make 
it extremely desirable to them that there was 
no God, and no future state, might very well, 
as philosophers, derive gratification from con¬ 
templating the truths of natural theology, and 
from following the chain of evidence by 
which these are established; and might, in 
such sublime meditation, find some solace to 
the pain which reflection upon the past, and 
fears of the future, are calculated to inflict 
upon them. But it is equally certain, that 
the science derives an interest incomparably 
greater from the consideration that we our¬ 
selves, who cultivate it, are most of all con¬ 
cerned in its truth—that our own highest des¬ 
tinies are involved in the results of the inves¬ 
tigation. This indeed, makes it beyond all 
doubt the most interesting of the sciences, 
and sheds on the other branches of philosophy 
an interest beyond that which otherwise be¬ 
longs to them ; rendering them more attract¬ 
ive "in proportion as theyconnnect themselves 
with this grand branch of human knowledge, 
and are capable of being made subservient to 
its uses. See only in what contemplations 
the wisest of men end their most sublime in¬ 
quiries ! Mark where it is that a Newton 
finally reposes, after piercing the thickest veil 
that envelops nature—grasping and arresting 
in their course the most subtile of her ele¬ 
ments, and the swiftest—traversing the re¬ 
gions of boundless space—exploring worlds 









292 LIBRARIES AT CONSTANTINOPLE. 


beyond the solar way—giving out the law 
which binds the universe in eternal order! 
He rests, as by an inevitable necessity, upon 
the contemplation of the great First Cause, 
and holds it his highest glory to have made 
the evidence of his existence, and the dispen¬ 
sations of his power, and of his wisdom, bet¬ 
ter understood by man. If such are the pe¬ 
culiar pleasures which appertain to this sci¬ 
ence, it seems to follow that those philoso¬ 
phers are mistaken who would restrict us to 
a very few demonstrations—to one or two 
instances of design—as sufficient proofs of the 
Deity’s power and skill in the creation of the 
world. That one sufficient proof of this kind 
is in a certain sense enough, can not be denied; 
a single such proof overthrows the dogmas of 
the atheist, and dispels the doubts of the skep¬ 
tic ; but is it enough to the gratification of the 
contemplative mind ? The great multiplica¬ 
tion of proofs undeniably strengthen our posi¬ 
tions ; nor can we ever affirm respecting the 
theorems in a science not of necessary but of 
contingent truth, that the evidence is suffi¬ 
ciently cogent without variety and repetition. 
But, independently altogether of this consid¬ 
eration, the gratification is renewed by each 
instance of design which we are led to con¬ 
template. Each is different from the other. 
Each step renews our delight. The finding 
that at every step we make in one science, 
and with one object in view, a new proof is 
added to those before possessed by another 
science, affords a perpetual source of new in¬ 
terest and fresh enjoyment. This would be 
true, if the science in question were one of 
an ordinal description. But when we con¬ 
sider what its nature is—how intimately con¬ 
nected with our highest concerns, how imrae- 
diately and necessarily leading to the adora¬ 
tion of the supreme Being—can we doubt 
that the perpetually renewed proofs of his 
power, wisdom, and goodness, tend to fix and 
to transport the mind, by the constant nour¬ 
ishment thus afforded to feelings of pure and 
rational devotion ? It is, in truth, an exercise 
at once intellectual and moral, in which the 
highest faculties of the understanding and the 
warmest feelings of the heart alike partake, 
and in which, not only without ceasing to be 
a philosopher, the student feels as a man, but 
in which, the more warmly his human feel¬ 
ings are excited, the more philosophically he 
handles the subject. What delight can be 
more elevating, more truly worthy of a ration¬ 
al creature’s enjoyment, than to feel, wher¬ 
ever we tread the paths of scientific inquiry, 
new evidence springing up around our foot¬ 
steps, new traces of Divine intelligence and 
power meeting our eye! We are never 
alone ; at least, like the old Roman, we are 
never less alone than in our solitude. We 


walk with the Deity ; we commune with the 
Great First Cause, who sustains at every in¬ 
stant what the word of his power made. The 
delight is renewed at each step of our prog¬ 
ress, though as far as evidence is concerned, 
we have long ago had proof enough. But 
that is no more a reason for ceasing to contem¬ 
plate the subject, in its perpetually renovated 
and varied forms, than it would be a reason 
for resting satisfied with once seeing a long- 
lost friend, that his existence had been suffi¬ 
ciently proved by one interview. Thus, in¬ 
stead of restricting ourselves to the proofs 
alone required to refute atheism, or remove 
skepticism, we should covet the indefinite 
multiplication of evidences of design and 
skill in the universe, as subservient in a three¬ 
fold way to purposes of use and gratification : 
First , as strengthening the foundation where¬ 
upon the system reposes ; secondly , as con¬ 
ducive to the ordinary purposes of scientific 
gratification, each instance being a fresh re¬ 
newal of that kind of enjoyment; and third¬ 
ly, as giving additional ground for deA'out, 
pleasing, and wholesome adoration of the 
Great First Cause, who made and who sus¬ 
tains all nature. 


LIBRARIES AT CONSTANTINOPLE. 

“It is a ridiculous notion which prevails 
among us,” said Sir William Jones, many 
years ago, “ that ignorance is a principle of 
the Mohammedan religion, and that the Koran 
instructs the Turks not to be instructed.” 
There is little question that even now we are 
too much accustomed to regard the followers 
of that faith as necessarily rude and ignorant 
beings, men who will neither cultivate learn¬ 
ing themselves, nor allow others to do so; 
there is still less question that the articles of 
their creed afford us no ground for such an im¬ 
pression. Mohammed not only permitted, but 
advised his people to apply themselves to the 
acquisition of knowledge; “Seek learning,” 
he tells them, in one of his precepts, “though 
it were in China.” The high estimation, in¬ 
deed, in which he held it, is abundantly shown 
in his extravagant declaration, that “ the ink 
of the learned, and the blood of martyrs, 
are of equal value in the sight of Heaven.” 
Nevertheless, it must be confessed, that at the 
present day there is no Mohammedan people 
remarkable for proficiency in literature or 
science; the existing race of Turks, who af¬ 
ford us the readiest specimen of a Moslem 
nation, are a set of barbarians, as proud as 
they are ignorant. The early sultans, as well 
as their predecessors, the Saracen califs, 
were the zealous patrons of knowledge; “ Be 













LIBRARIES AT CONSTANTINOPLE. 293 



Interior of the Public Library at Constantinople. 


the support of the faith, and the protector of 
the sciences,” was the dying injunction of the 
first Osman to his successor Orckan, in the 
beginning of the fourteenth century. The 
later sovereigns of the Turkish empire have 
been less zealous in the cause of learning; it 
is possible, that as the fanaticism of their sub¬ 
jects has abated, the monarchs have become 
unwilling to remove their ignorance, lest the 
consequences should be detrimental to both 
the spiritual and the temporal despotism which 
afflict their country. 

One of the modes in which the early sov¬ 
ereigns of Turkey have testified to posterity 
their regard for letters, is the establishment of 
Kitab-Khanes, or public libraries, in the great 
cities of their empire, either in connexion with 
the mosques and colleges, or apart as distinct 
institutions. Constantinople possesses thirty- 
five, none of them containing less than one 
thousand manuscripts, and some more than 
five thousand. 

Our readers may acquire a good idea of the 
internal appearance of one of these libraries, 
from our engraving. Each volume is bound 
in colored leather (red, green, or black), and 
is enclosed in a case of similar material, which 
protects it from the dust, and from the worms. 
The title of the work, instead of being written, 


as with us, upon the back of the book, is 
marked first upon the edges of the leaves, and 
then again on the edge of the outer covering. 
Cases, with glass or wire-work fronts, are 
ranged along the walls of the library, or in its 
four corners; and in those the volumes are 
deposited, resting on their sides, one above 
another. 

These libraries are open on every day of 
the week, except Tuesday and Friday; vis¬ 
iters are allowed to read any books, to make 
extracts from them, and even to transcribe a 
whole manuscript. The subjects of the great¬ 
er part of the works, are, of course, analogous 
to the usual studies which are followed in the 
colleges, or medresses; and as law and theol¬ 
ogy alone occupy the attention of the students, 
the mass of books consists of copies of the 
Koran, and commentaries upon it, with col¬ 
lections of the oral laws of Mohammed, and 
works on jurisprudence. The manuscripts 
are all written on the finest vellum, and some 
of them afford beautiful specimens of pen¬ 
manship ; each library has a catalogue. Most 
of these different collections are continually 
being augmented by the produce of the sur¬ 
plus funds arising from their original endow¬ 
ments, and also by the liberal contributions 
of private individuals. The scribe who writes 


































































































































































































































































































FRANKNESS AND RESERVE. 


294 


a fine liand, generally regards it as a duty to 
make a transcript of the Koran at some period 
of his life, and bestow the copy upon one of 
the Kitab-Khanes. Notwithstanding the ne¬ 
cessary dearness of books where printing is 
not practised, every citizen takes care to ac¬ 
quire a certain number in the course of his 
life; and the lawyer, the statesman, or the 
man of letters, who possesses a fine library, 
bequeaths it to some public library, that he 
may receive the benedictions of those who 
avail themselves of his liberality. 

\/ 

FRANKNESS AND RESERVE. 

To strike a proper medium between impru¬ 
dent openness of communication and forbid¬ 
ding reserve, is an attainment which will be 
found of consequence in our progress through 
life. While an open ingenuous disposition is 
naturally most attractive, it is, when carried 
to an extreme, attended with many serious 
evils; and, on the other hand, while a person 
characterized by great caution in his conver¬ 
sation avoids the foolish disclosures of the 
former, he is in danger, if he maintain too 
close a reserve, of thereby repelling the friend¬ 
ly feelings which depend on mutual knowl¬ 
edge, and consequent sympathy. But before 
attempting to point out the course to be pur¬ 
sued in order to steer clear of both these ex- 
i tremes, it may be as well to delineate a few 
varieties in each class ; for while the general 
effect may be the same, the causes which lead 
to it are often very different. 

There are first, then, the constitutionally 
reserved—-those whose natural disposition it 
is to withdraw, like the snail, within its shell, 
from the gaze of the multitude, the tendency 
of their minds being to restrain the outward 
expression of their views and feelings. 

Then there are the reserved from consider¬ 
ations suggested by prudence. Having fre¬ 
quently seen mischievous consequences flow¬ 
ing from making those with whom we come 
in contact the repositaries of our information, 
they put a guard upon their lips, lest they 
should be led, by too great freedom of inter¬ 
course, into some awkward and unpleasant 
predicament. However necessary prudence 
in this respect may he, persons of this class 
sometimes carry their caution to a ridiculous 
extent. So guarded is their correspondence 
with all around them, that one would imagine 
they believed themselves surrounded by per¬ 
sons resembling the emissaries of the famous 
or rather infamous Fouche, ready to seize on 
every word and drag them into judgment on 
account of it. Such persons seems to move 


in an atmosphere of mystery; they scarcely 
know what they do themselves, far less how 
others are engaged. A decided remark upon 
character or events never falls from their lips; 
the farthest length they are ever known to go, 
and even that is a stretch, is to mention that 
they had heard so and so—however, it was 
but a rumor, merely a floating report, as like¬ 
ly to be false as true. With such persons, 
the reply “ I don’t know,” is an impenetrable 
tegis, repelling every curious inquiry. To 
judge from their conversation, they turn the 
contingency of the past into certainty and 
adopt as their motto, “ Since ignorance is bliss, 
’tis folly to be wise.” 

A third class we find characterized by dig¬ 
nified reserve. A number of those little in¬ 
cidents and events which possess interest in 
the estimation of others, are passed over by 
them as unworthy of notice; they look with 
a feeling bordering on contempt upon the trifles 
which, judging from the conversation in vogue, 
seem to occupy the attention of others. Their 
taste becomes gradually more fastidious, and 
as they find it impossible to introduce import¬ 
ant and serious subjects at every season, and 
in all companies, the consequence is, that they 
learn to retire into the sanctuary of their own 
thoughts for entertainment. 

Then, again, there are the consequentially 
reserved. The reserve of this class is to be 
understood with limitations ; it rather consists 
in the withholding sources of information than 
of the information itself. To say, “ I read 
so-and-so in the newspapers,” or “such a per¬ 
son told me this,” would in their estimation be 
an unpardonable lowering of their consequence. 
Such phrases as “I understand,” or “I am 
told,” convey a far grander and more indefinite 
idea to their hearers, of their knowledge of 
men and things. 

Reserve, however, may very often proceed 
from principle—from a rigid determination to 
say nothing but what is well authenticated, 
and which will not prove injurious to the 
character of any one; and although such a 
determination shuts up numerous subjects re¬ 
specting which perfect freedom of intercourse 
may be enjoyed, it also prevents the person 
acting upon it from indulging in that kind of 
conversation in which it is most dangerous to 
throw off’reserve. 

The causes leading to freedom of commu¬ 
nication are as various as those leading to the 
opposite. There is a constitutional frankness, 
as well as a constitutional reserve—with some 
it is as natural to communicate as with others 
to refrain from communicating. The first of 
this class may be denominated the benevolent¬ 
ly frank. These take a philanthropic pleasure 
in entertaining and interesting those with whom 
they meet, and, in order to effect this end, 












FRANKNESS AND RESERVE. 


295 


x 


A 


they make all the stock of information which 
they themselves possess a common good, trans¬ 
ferable at any time for the public benefit. 
Such persons most assiduously set themselves 
to minister to the gratification of their com¬ 
panions. If the reply to the question “Have 
you heard so-and-so?” be in the negative, 
they with the utmost delight proceed to give 
a full, true, and particular account of the 
whole matter, thinking themselves abundantly 
recompensed for their trouble by the pleasure 
which they thus confer. 

As there are the consequentially reserved, 
so there are also the consequentially unre¬ 
served. If you intrust a secret to one of the 
latter, depend upon it, it will not long remain 
so. The pleasure of showing that he has 
been thus distinguished from the multitude, 
overpowers a sense of honor, and the secret is 
communicated to a third person, accompanied 
with strict injunctions that it should go no 
farther, conveyed, perhaps, in such terms as 
the following: “ Now, I expect this won’t go 
beyond these walls, and I tell it you knowing 
that it will be perfectly safe.” As example 
is always better than precept, it will readily 
be conceived, that however conclusive this 
reasoning may be to its author, it will not ex¬ 
ert a very great influence on the person whose 
conduct it is intended to sway. 

Another grade of this class are those indi¬ 
viduals who speak freely of themselves, their 
opinions, their doings, their acquirements: 
but all this is done from motives of vanity, in 
order to place themselves in as favorable a 
light as possible. 

These various causes of the two disposi¬ 
tions which form the subject of this article, 
although distinct in theory, are generally found 
blended more or less together in actual life, 
sometimes one preponderating and sometimes 
another. In regard to whether it is best to 
cultivate the one or the other, it will be found 
that the path of safety lies in the middle, the 
extremes on either side being dangerous. 

The person who keeps his sentiments, joys, 
and sorrows, to himself, will soon find him¬ 
self as isolated from the sympathy of his fel¬ 
low-creatures as Robinson Crusoe was in his 
desert island, having placed himself voluntarily 
in that forlorn situation, to which Defoe’s hero 
was forced by adverse circumstances. He 
thus deprives himself of that interchange of 
feeling which enhances the joy of prosperity, 
and soothes and sustains the mind in adversity; 
for the Creator has appointed the disclosure 
of our feelings to those who can sympathize 
with them, as a kind of safely-valve, in those 
times of extreme emotion when the heart would 
break if not thus relieved. 

While an individual of a too-reserved char¬ 
acter thus deprives himself of the benefit and 


happiness arising from social interchange of 
feeling, one of a completely opposite character 
is thereby exposed to evils which, though of 
a different nature, are by no means less to be 
avoided. Such a person often errs with re¬ 
gard to those whom he makes his confidants 
—newly-formed friends, casual acquaintances, 
or even perfect strangers, receive communica¬ 
tions fit only for the ear of intimate friends, 
on whose prudence reliance may be placed. 
Certainly, none need feel themselves dis¬ 
tinguished by the confidence of such persons, 
which is freely bestowed on any with whom 
they may happen to come in contact. Those 
of this character err also in regard to the sub¬ 
jects on which they speak. Details respect¬ 
ing personal and family matters, which a right 
thinking and prudent person would shrink from 
allowing to pass beyond the circle in which 
they occurred, are made known to those whose 
only interest in them is the gratification of 
their curiosity, and being furnished with the 
means of communicating to others what was 
so thoughtlessly made known to them. And 
it were comparatively well if an individual of 
this disposition restricted himself to his own 
affairs; but it seldom happens that this is the 
case. He who exposes his own concerns to 
the public is not likely to be very chary about 
those of others, and rash judgments in regard 
to character, and exaggerated or ill-authenti¬ 
cated reports of matters are thrown about, as 
if the individual were utterly careless of the 
injuries which giving currency to such state¬ 
ments may inflict on those who are the sub¬ 
jects of them. Many have had great reason 
to repent of such unreserved and imprudent, 
not to say sinful communications. 

But it may be said here, that it is far easier 
to see the evils on both sides, than to hit the 
exact medium between unsociableness on the 
one hand and imprudence on the other. So 
it is; but still to reach this is a point of some 
importance in the minor morals of life, and it 
is worth while to make an effort to do so. 

To gain this object we should use discrim¬ 
ination, both in regard to whom we speaks 
and what we speak about. In reference to 
the first of these, our communications, especial¬ 
ly in as far as they relate to personal feelings 
or history, should grow more and more re¬ 
served as the circle widens, for there are many 
things which it would be quite proper for an 
individual to speak freely of in his own family, 
which it would be manifestly imprudent to 
talk of in the same manner to mere acquaint¬ 
ances or strangers; for while in the one case 
such openness tends to strengthen affection, 
in the other it may only furnish an aliment to 
the curious, or, as sometimes happens, weapons 
to the designing. 

In regard to what we speak of, we should 











296 THE SECRET 


be careful to say nothing, either directly or 
indirectly, for the mere purpose of showing 
off ourselves, our amiable character, our 
knowledge, our connexions, and the like ; and 
if we are tempted to introduce subjects for 
any such purpose, we should immediately 
check ourselves, remembering the counsel ol 
the wise man—“ Let another praise thee, and 
not thine own lips.” 

Again, in all our communications, we ought 
to have a strict regard to character; putting 
out of view altogether a worse motive, we 
ought never, for the mere purpose of having 
something interesting to say, thoughtlessly 
make statements injurious to the character of 
others. On the other hand, we ought to avoid 
making a mystery of trifles, and of those 
things, the communication of which, while it 
may gratify others, can neither injure our¬ 
selves nor them. 

Free and unreserved communication of 
thought and feeling, is at once the cement and 
charm of domestic life; but there is a vast 
variety of topics of general interest, which 
may furnish us with subjects of both useful 
and interesting conversation, in the other cir¬ 
cles in which we may move, and thus pre¬ 
serve inviolable those matters, the publishing 
of which often manifests both imprudence and 
vanity. 


THE SECRET OF SUCCESS. 

There are some men who appear bora to 
good fortune, and others whose destiny seems 
to subject them to eternal failure and disaster. 
The ancients represented Fortune as a blind 
goddess, because she distributed her gifts 
without discrimination; and in more modern 
times, the belief has been prevalent that the 
fortunes of a man were ruled chiefly by the 
planet under which he was born. These su¬ 
perstitions, however ridiculous, show at least 
that the connexion between merit and success 
is not very conspicuous, yet it is not therefore 
the less perpetual. To succeed in the world, 
is of itself a proof of merit; of a vulgar kind, 
indeed it may be, but a useful kind notwith¬ 
standing. We grant, indeed, that those quali¬ 
ties of mind which make a man succeed in 
life, are, to a great extent, subversive of 
genius. Nevertheless, numerous illustrious 
examples might be given of men of the high¬ 
est genius being as worldly-wise as duller 
mortals. It is the pretenders to genius, rather 
than the possessor of it, who claim the largest 
exemption from those rules of prudence which 
regulate the conduct of ordinary mortals, and 
array themselves in the deformities of genius, 


OF SUCCESS. 


in the idea that they constitute its beauties. 
There are some indiscretions, we believe, to 
which men of a vigorous fancy and keen sen¬ 
sibility are naturally heir, and for which it 
would be unjust to condemn them with vigor, 
as it would be to blame one of the cold-blood¬ 
ed sons of discretion for being destitute of po¬ 
etic lire. Yet every deviation from prudence 
is a fault, and not to be imitated, though it 
may sometimes be excused. 

The most important element of success is 
economy: economy of money and of time. 
By economy we do not mean penuriousness, 
but merely such wholesome thrift as will dis¬ 
incline us to spend our time or money without 
an adequate return in either gain or enjoyment. 
An economical application of time beings lei¬ 
sure and method, and enables us to drive our 
business, instead of our business driving us. 
There is nothing attended with results so dis¬ 
astrous, as such a miscalculation of our time 
and means, and will involve us in perpetual 
hurry and difficulty. The brightest talents 
must be ineffective under such a pressure, 
and a life of experiments has no end but 
penury. Oar recipe for succeeding in the 
world, then, is this: “Work much and spend 
little.” If this advice is followed, success 
must come—unless, indeed, some unwise ad¬ 
venture, or some accident against which no 
human foresight could provide, such as sick¬ 
ness, conflagration, or other visitations of 
Providence, should arrest the progress on¬ 
ward ; but, in the ordinary course of human 
affairs, success will ever wait upon economy, 
which is the condition by which property must 
be earned. Worldly success, however, though 
universally coveted, can only be desirable in 
so far as it will contribute to happiness, and 
it will contribute to happiness very little, un¬ 
less there be cultivated a lively benevolence 
toward every animated being. “Happiness,” 
it has been finely observed, “is the propor¬ 
tion of the number of things we love, and the 
number of things that love us.” To this 
sentiment we most cordially subscribe, and 
we should wish to see it written on the tablet 
of every heart, and producing its fruits of 
charity. The man, whatever be his fame, 
or fortune, or intelligence, who can treat light¬ 
ly another’s wo, who is not bound to his fel¬ 
low-men by the magic tie of sympathv, de¬ 
serves, ay, and will obtain, the contempt of 
human kind. Upon him all the gifts of fortune 
are thrown away. Happiness he has none; 
his life is a dream; a mere lethargy, without 
a throb of human emotion, and he will descend 
to the grave, “unwept, unhonored, and un¬ 
sung.” Such a fate is not to be envied, and 
let those who are intent upon success, re¬ 
member that success is nothing without hap¬ 
piness. 















r n c irwm era© nisra a© mnEA 






































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































THE OLD CITY-HALL, NEW YORK. 


298 


THE OLD CITY-HALL, NEW YORK, 

The old city-hall in Wall street, at the 
head of Broad street, has been faithfully cop¬ 
ied from an engraving published by Tiebout, 
in 1789. It had been a short time previously 
enlarged and improved for the reception and 
accommodation of the first congress convened 
under the new constitution of the United 
States. In compiling the annexed succinct 
history of its predecessors, we have drawn 
largely from the original records of the com¬ 
mon council. 

The first stadt-house was erected by the 
Dutch, while in possession of the colony of 
New Netherlands and the city of New Am¬ 
sterdam, under the jurisdiction of a schout, 
burgomaster, and schepen. 

Hudson came up to the island of Manhat¬ 
tan, called by the natives Manndoes, in the 
month of October, 1609, then occupied by a 
ferocious tribe of Indians; he navigated as 
high as Albany, and on his return to Holland, 
transferred his right of discovery to the Dutch, 
who afterward granted it to their West India 
company. The latter the next year sent ships 
to Manhattan to trade with the natives. In 
1614, a fort was built by the Dutch at the 
southwest extremity of the island, and also 
another, called Fort Aurania (Orange), where 
Albany now stands, which was settled before 
the city of New Amsterdam ; the latter prob¬ 
ably was not permanently occupied until the 
year 1619. From this period, it remained in 
possession of the Dutch until the conquest of 
the colony by the English, in 1664. A few 
years after, it was granted by Charles II. to 
his brother James, duke of York and Albany ; 
and the two principal, indeed only cities at 
that time in the colony, were called after him, 
New York and Albany. 

The date of the erection of the stadt-house 
is not ascertained, but most likely it was 
shortly after the settlement of New Amster¬ 
dam. It was, as were most of the houses of 
that period, built of bricks, called clinkers, 
imported from Holland, as ballast for mer¬ 
chant-vessels. Few specimens of these early 
structures now remain here, but several yet 
exist in Albany. The style of architecture, 
with steep, tiled roofs, gables to the streets, 
and alleys between the houses, was Spanish, 
introduced by that nation into Flanders, now 
Belgium, while that populous portion of the 
Netherlands was possessed by Spain. In 
consequence of the long-protracted civil and 
religious wars between Spain and Holland, 
which terminated in the independence of the 
latter, a most rancorous antipathy existed on 
the part of the Dutch of New Netherlands 
against the Spaniards, which was scarcely 
obliterated from the minds of their descend¬ 


ants until the American revolution. Evidence 
of this fact is to be seen in the history of the 
famous negro plot in 1741, when the absurd 
idea was propagated and believed, that it was 
instigated by the Spaniards of South America. 
Indeed, the predatory wars of the English 
against Spanish America, privateering and 
buccaneering, fostered this early prejudice. 
To kill or plunder a Spaniard, was regarded 
neither robbery nor murder. What dreadful 
principles to cherish in a civilized nation! 

About the year 1695, the stadt-house began 
to require repairs, adequate to render it safe 
for the meetings of the court of common coun¬ 
cil, and of the supreme court. After several 
surveys and profound deliberations, the Ho- 
gen Mogens of the day determined that it was 
most expedient, as well as economical, to build 
a new city-hall, at the head of Broad street, 
and to lease or sell the old one. No lessee 
offering, it was sold at auction to Mr. John 
Rodman, merchant, for nine hundred and 
twenty pounds, equal to two thousand three 
hundred dollars. Three thousand pounds, or 
seven thousand five hundred dollars, were ap¬ 
propriated toward building the new city-hall: 
a large sum in those days to be raised by di¬ 
rect tax on a population not exceeding five 
thousand. x 

The stadt-house, or first city-hall, was situ¬ 
ated in Dock, now Pearl street, at the comer 
of Coenties (Countesses’) lane. 

The site of the new city-hall was laid on a 
bastion and line of stone fortifications that ex¬ 
tended across the northern bound ary of the city, 
from the East to Hudson river, whence the 
name of Wall street is derived. This appears 
by a petition of the corporation to Lieutenant- 
Governor Hanfen and his majesty’s council, 
to intercede with the earl of Bellamont, the 
governor, then absent at Boston, for permis¬ 
sion, as the fortifications were dilapidated, to 
make use of the stones for building a new 
city-hall, which, no doubt, was granted. No 
ceremony appears to have taken place on lay¬ 
ing the foundation, which was, probably, in 
the spring of 1700; and the common council 
held its first meetings there in the summer of 
1703. This edifice, for a long time the most 
magnificent in the city, was frequently im¬ 
proved and embellished, until the revolution¬ 
ary war. While in possession of the British, 
it was occupied for the main-guard, and es¬ 
caping the ravages of the enemy, it remained 
entire, although much injured, until the evac¬ 
uation of the city by the British forces, on i 
the 25th of November, 1783. 

A room was appropriated in the hall for 
the use of the New York Society Library, 
founded in 1754, whose collection of books, 
though not extensive, was select and valuable, 
and was totally plundered by the British. 









THE OLD CITY-HALL, NEW YORK. 299 


The present library was renewed in 1789. 
A chamber also contained a large stand of 
arms and equipments, purchased by the cor¬ 
poration in 1764, which were seized by the 
whigs on the Sunday afternoon, when the 
news of the battle of Lexington, 19th of 
April, 1775, arrived, and threw the city into 
the utmost consternation. The chief persons 
concerned in the seizure, viz., Colonel Isaac 
Sears, Col. John Lamb, M‘Dougall, Willett, 
and others, were the “Liberty Boys,”* so 
called, who immediately assembled in Van 
Dyck’s ball-alley, northeast corner of Broad¬ 
way and John street, and formed a company 
which patrolled the city to prevent any dis¬ 
turbances—their parole was Boston , counter¬ 
sign Lexington. This was the first resort 
to arms in the province of New York. 

No city or state in the Union suffered in 
proportion to New York—a frontier at both 
extremities; exposed on the north to the 
predatory incursions of the Canadians and 
Indians, while its capital at the south was 
nearly one fifth desolated by the awful con¬ 
flagration on the 21st of September, 1776, 
shortly after its occupation by the British, 
who kept possession until the peace of 1783. 
At the evacuation, on the 25th of November, 
the patriot families returned, after a tedious 
and distressing exile of seven long years, to 
mourn over their homes, devastated or in ru¬ 
ins—their fortunes reduced by a depreciated 
currency, with little remaining to re-establish 
themselves in the enjoyment of their former 
plain, but redundant comforts. Their de¬ 
scendants of the present day, and the enter¬ 
prising inhabitants of this commercial empo¬ 
rium of the ocean and the lakes, can but feebly 
estimate the privations and sufferings of the 

* The “Sons of Liberty.” —The success of that 
great struggle for liberty, the American Revolution, 
which was by the many supposed hopeless, and 
which present historians deem almost miraculous, 
was brought about by the courage and perseverance 
of a few indomitable spirits, whom no labor could 
weary or danger appal; and it was by their moral 
courage, perseverance, and intrepidity, that this great 
Revolution was begun, continued, and ended. In 
the year 1765 , Colonel Isaac Sears, afterward better 
known by the name of “ King Sears. ' a man of 
great personal intrepidity, forward in dangerous en¬ 
terprises, and ready at ali times to carry out the bold¬ 
est measures, became the originator and leader of 
the patriotic band, who associated themselves together 
under the name of the “ Sons of Liberty.” Their or¬ 
ganization soon pervaded every part of the colonies, 
and was the germ of the Revolution. By their in¬ 
trepidity the spirit of the masses was aroused, and by 
their persevering industry and zeal the people were 
excited to oppose all efforts to enslave them. These 
bold spirits formed the nucleus of the future armies 
of the Revolution ; and it is to the moral courage 
which they displayed, and the indomitable resolution 
with which they braved all danger, that the world is 
indebted for the illustrious example set by the infant 
colonies to Europe, and the foundation of a great and 
glorious republic. 


anti-revolutionary families, whose survivors 
may say, as Augustus did of Rome, we found 
our city in brick, and leave it in marble. May 
they never lose sight of the plain, simple fru¬ 
gality and virtues of those progenitors whose 
word was their bond, and whose morals were 
irreproachable. 

In the fall of 1784, the revolutionary con¬ 
gress removed to this city, and the court-room 
in the city-hall was fitted for their use. On 
the adoption of the new constitution, more 
extensive accommodations were required for 
the senate and house of representatives about 
to convene in the city, for which purpose the 
old edifice was entirely renovated, and an ex¬ 
tensive addition made in the rear. The sen¬ 
ate-chamber was in the former, and that for 
the house of representatives in the latter. 
The expenses of these extensive improve¬ 
ments were defrayed by lottery. Maj. L’En- 
fant, a French engineer, of great abilities, in 
the service of the United States during the 
war, was the architect, and his skill and taste 
displayed in this edifice were universally ad¬ 
mired, and gave the chief spring to a more 
improved style of architecture in public build¬ 
ings throughout the United States. 

In the spring of 1789, the first congress un¬ 
der the new constitution assembled in this 
city, and met in the new edifice. On the 30th 
of April, George Washington was inaugurated 
the first president, in the gallery in front of 
the senate chamber, in view of an immense 
concourse of citizens collected in Broad street 
—the doors, windows, and roof of every house 
were thronged with exulting spectators. The 
oath of office was administered by Chancellor 
Livingston, on a superb quarto bible, then be¬ 
longing to the grand lodge of the state of 
New York, which is carefully preserved by 
St. John’s lodge, No. 1, having the following 
inscription imprinted in gold letters on its 
cover, of an event so auspicious to the pros¬ 
perity and happiness of the United States:— 

“ On this sacred volume, on the thirtieth 
day of April, A. M. 5789, in the city of New 
York, was administered to George Washing¬ 
ton, the first president of the United States 
of America, the oath to support the constitu¬ 
tion of the United States. This important 
ceremony was performed by the most wor¬ 
shipful grand-master of free and accepted ma¬ 
sons of the state of New York, the Honorable 
Robert R. Livingston, chancellor of the state. 

“ ‘ Fame stretched her wings, and with her trumpet 
blew, 

“ ‘ Great Washington is near—what praise is due ? 

“ * What title shall he have ? She paused—and said, 
«‘ Not one—his name alone strikes every title dead.’ ” 

The standard belonging to the second regi¬ 
ment of New York state artillery, held near 









LINDLEY MURRAY. 



tlie president on tlie occasion, is still in pos¬ 
session of the corporation of the city, which 
presented another elegant stand of colors to 
the regiment in exchange. May the bible and 
standard be preserved and transmitted to fu¬ 
ture generations, as proud memorials of this 
important epoch in our national history. 

This edifice, becoming superannuated, re¬ 
quiring constant and expensive repairs, and, 
moreover, not conveniently adapted for the 
increasing courts and municipal offices, was, 
after the building of the third, present marble 
city-hall, at the head of the Park, the pride 
of the city and admiration of every visiter, 
demolished in 1812, and the site laid out in 
lots and sold to private individuals. The 
United States afterward purchased buildings 
upon the < site for a customhouse, which in 
its turn became too confined and inconveni¬ 
ent for the immensely growing commercial 
operations of the city, and has been replaced 
by the present splendid and more commodi¬ 
ous structure. 


LINDLEY MURRAY, 

Lindley Murray, the “ prince of English 
grammarians,” was an American. He was 
born in the memorable year 1745, at Swetara, 
near Lancaster, in the state of Pennsylvania. 
His father was an active and enterprising per¬ 
son, very anxious to improve his circumstan¬ 
ces, and to raise his family to independence. 
While he was following the occupation of a 
miller, he thought of devoting his attention to 
some other branch of business, and began 
trading to the West Indies, to which he made 
several successful voyages. Latterly, he be¬ 
came an extensive ship-owner, and engaged in 
a great variety of mercantile pursuits, by which 
he amassed a considerable fortune. 

To his mother, an amiable and clever woman, 
young Murray owed much, and he was sen¬ 
sible of it. He held her in great esteem, and 
cherished toward her the feelings of a most 
affectionate and devoted son. Both his parents 
were members of the society of friends, and 
they were pious and exemplary persons. The 
Bible was read daily in the family; and one 
of the first things which made a strong im¬ 
pression on his mind was seeing his father 
shedding tears as he sat in a corner of the 
room, perusing by himself the sacred page. 
This may appear to some a trifling incident; 
but such was its influence upon the mind of 
Lindley Murray that he continued to refer to 
it with gratitude and gladness to the end of 
his days. 

Lindley was the eldest of twelve children. 
In his infancy he was very delicate. He was 


playful and frolicsome, however ; and, being 
weak and sickly, he was greatly indulged, 
especially by his grandmother, who lived in 
the family. Indeed, he was, in every sense 
of the term, a “ spoiled child and, as was to 
be expected, became very peevish and obsti¬ 
nate. He was full of mischief and tricks, some 
of which indicated anything but an amiable 
disposition. As he was not corrected, he be¬ 
came so forward and ungovernable that it was 
found necessary to remove him from the ob¬ 
servation of his indulgent grandmother, and 
place him under the care of an aunt. She 
was a woman of great kindness, as well as 
firmness of character; and it was not long till 
the wayward, mischievous boy found that he 
was under a very different kind of training 
from that to which he had formerly been sub¬ 
jected. To this discreet and excellent relative 
lie was much indebted ; and in after-life he 
frequently confessed that to her wise and 
salutary management he owed in a great meas¬ 
ure his future eminence. 

When about seven years of age, he was 
sent to the city of Philadelphia, that he might 
have the benefit of a better education than 
could be had at Swetara. But he was not 
long at the academy of Philadelphia till he 
removed with his parents to North Carolina. 
Their residence there was temporary, and in 
1753 they settled at New York. Lindley was 
sent to one of the best seminaries in the city, 
and every attention was paid to his education 
by his parents and teacher. Notwithstanding 
his fondness for play, he scarcely ever neglect¬ 
ed to perform the tasks which were prescribed 
to him, and he did so to the satisfaction of his 
teacher. He made great progress in his ed¬ 
ucation, and gained a reputation for talent and 
scholarship. 

From school, young Murray was removed 
at a very early age to the counting-house of 
his father, who was most desirous that his 
son should follow the mercantile profession, 
though all his efforts and solicitations to this 
effect failed ; Lindley had no relish for it, and 
would be anything but a merchant. His 
father persevered in his purpose. He was a 
severe disciplinarian, and went the length of 
compelling him to enter on an employment 
which was most uncongenial to his wishes. 
This, together with certain family regulations, 
appeared to him so unreasonable that he re¬ 
solved to withdraw from the counting-house 
and the parental roof, and begin the world for 
himself. After having received a severe 
chastisement from his father, he packed up 
his books and any little property he possessed, 
and set out for a town in the interior of the 
country, where there was an excellent semi¬ 
nary. Being respectably connected, he was 
received into the establishment as a boarder. 












LINDLEY MURRAY. 


301 


While here he prosecuted his studies with 
great ardor, and would have been perfectly 
happy but for the sorrow which he thought 
his absence would occasion his mother. That 
absence, however, was of short duration. He 
had a particular friend at Philadelphia, a 
youth about his own age, to whom he paid a 
visit. When about to leave the city, he met 
a gentleman who had dined at his father’s a 
short time before, who asked him how long 
he expected to remain. He said he was 
“just setting off.” The gentleman had just 
been with a letter to the postoffice, but was 
too late; and it being about business of great 
importance, he requested him to deliver it with 
his own hand as soon as he arrived at New 
York. Young Murray was taken by surprise; 
he could not muster sufficient courage to state 
to him his situation, and took charge of the 
letter. At first he thought of putting it into 
the postoffice; but having engaged to deliver 
it personally, he could not think of breaking 
his word. He hurried on to New York, and 
delivered the letter, expecting to return im¬ 
mediately; but the boat which crossed the 
bay did not sail till next morning, and he had 
to remain over the night. Though he had 
conducted his business with great caution, he 
was perceived by some person who knew him. 
An uncle visited him, who urged him strongly 
to go home, telling him at the same time of 
the distress of his mother on his account. 
After some remonstrance he agreed to call upon 
her; she received him affectionately; and 
during the interview his father came in. He 
saluted him tenderly, expressed great satis¬ 
faction at seeing him again, and they spent 
the evening together in great harmony and 
affection. A person was despatched next day 
to the place of his retreat, to settle all accounts 
and bring back his property; thus the boy’s 
folly was happily terminated, and his father’s 
fireside was dearer to him than ever. Till 
his death he referred with sorrow to the folly 
of which he was guilty in leaving his home, 
and likewise with gratitude to the manner in 
which he was brought back. In one of his 
letters he says—“ When I reflect on this rash 
and imprudent adventure—on the miseries in 
which it might have involved me—and on the 
singular manner in which I was restored to 
the bosom of mv family—I can not avoid see¬ 
ing the hand of Divine Providence in my 
preservation, and feeling that I ought to be 
humbly and deeply thankful for the gracious 
interposition.” 

Shortly after his return to New York, he 
solicited the privilege of a private tutor to 
aid him in his studies, with which request his 
father kindly complied. The gentleman ap¬ 
pointed was learned, and talented, and most 
attentive to his charge. Lindley commenced 


and prosecuted his studies with diligence and 
alacrity. He rose early, and sat up late. This 
close application, however, proved too much 
for a constitution naturally delicate : the in¬ 
cessant study and confinement injured his 
health, and he was obliged for a time to abate 
the ardor of his pursuits, and to join bodily 
exercise with mental application. 

When under the superintendence of this 
learned and faithful preceptor, he was very 
gay and frolicsome, and was led it appears 
“ into many follies and transgressions.” But 
he had a high veneration for those who were 
truly religious, and for all books that inculcated 
morality and virtue. Even at this period, 
though not decidedly the subject of religious 
impressions, he had a great esteem for Chris¬ 
tianity. Some of his intimate acquaintances 
were skeptics and deists; but all the argu¬ 
ments which they advanced, and all the infidel 
publications which they put into his hands, 
never disturbed his mind or led him to doubt 
the divine origin of the Christian religion. 

When between seventeen and eighteen 
years of age, he became so attached to literary 
pursuits that the counting-house had no charms 
for him. To follow his father’s business—to 
be a merchant—he would not consent; it 
seemed to him a most uninteresting and unin¬ 
tellectual employment. He communicated 
his wishes to his father, and expressed his in¬ 
tention to follow the legal profession ; but his 
proposal was strongly objected to. His father 
reminded him of its temptations—of the small 
return it would yield him compared with what 
he would receive if he became a merchant— 
and the anxiety he felt that he should assist 
him in his mercantile pursuits; but all argu¬ 
ment and persuasion failed ; he was determin¬ 
ed to follow a literary profession, though, in 
his father’s estimation, it was neither so lucra¬ 
tive nor so honorable as that of a merchant. 

The office in which Murray was placed to 
acquire a knowledge of the law was one of 
the best which could be had in the city of 
New York. The principal was Benjamin 
Rissam, Esq., an intimate friend of his father, 
a man of great integrity and eminence in his 
profession. John Jay, Esq., afterward gov¬ 
ernor of New York, was his fellow-student— 
a young man who then gave indications of 
talent and excellence. With these advantages 
he prosecuted his studies with zeal and alac¬ 
rity, and at the close of the fourth year he 
was called to the bar, and received license to 
practise as both counsel and attorney, accord¬ 
ing to the custom of that time. His success 
exceeded his expectations; and at the age of 
twenty-two he married “ a young woman of 
personal attractions, good sense, a most amia¬ 
ble disposition, and of a worth)'- and respecta¬ 
ble family.” 










LINDLEY MURRAY. 


302 


Shortly after his marriage his father’s busi¬ 
ness required him to go to England, and to 
remain for a time in that country. Circum¬ 
stances connected with his own profession ren¬ 
dered it necessary for him to go there likewise. 
In 1771 they returned to New York, where 
he resumed the practice of the law. He was 
exceedingly attentive and laborious, and was 
generally esteemed for his professional knowl¬ 
edge, as well as his private worth. He never 
encouraged litigation, even when he saw it to 
be for his own pecuniary advantage. He 
uniformly recommended a settlement of differ¬ 
ences by arbitration, and never, in the whole 
course of his practice, did he undertake a case 
about the justice of which he had a doubt, or 
advocate the claims of an individual which he 
thought unreasonable. He gained for himself 
the reputation of an “honest lawyer;” and in 
consequence of his integrity as well as his 
ability he acquired great celebrity, and enjoyed 
for many years great success. 

But “ there is a tide in the affairs of men:” 
like others he had only his day. About this 
time the troubles in the colonies commenced, 
which were followed by a general failure of 
proceedings in the law courts of this country. 
This circumstance, together with a severe 
illness which impaired his health, induced him 
to relinquish the profession of the law, and 
retire for a time into the country. He went 
to Islip in Long Island, about forty miles from 
New York, where he remained four years. 
They were the idlest and most unprofitable 
years of his life; and to his death he spoke 
of them with regret, and with unqualified 
condemnation. He then returned to New 
York, and began business as a merchant. His 
father gave him unlimited credit in the im¬ 
portation of goods from England; and by 
perseverance and a great command of capital 
he succeeded beyond his most sanguine ex¬ 
pectations. He became every year more 
prosperous; and about the time when the ques¬ 
tion of American independence was settled he 
retired from business, and purchased a delight¬ 
ful country-seat, about three miles from the 
city, where he expected to pass the remainder 
of his days. But how soon are our hopes 
blasted ! Before he could leave New York 
and settle at Bellevue (the name of his new 
abode), he was seized with a most alarming 
illness, which left him in a very infirm and 
debilitated state. As soon as his health would 
permit, he repaired to the spot where, to use 
his own words, “he promised himself every 
enjoyment -which his heart desired.” But the 
fine mansion, and the noble river on which it 
stood, and “ the pleasant country on the op¬ 
posite shore,” and the elegant furniture, and 
the beautiful garden, and the verdant lawns 
on which the cattle grazed, yielded him but 


little comfort. His health declined, every year 
he felt himself weaker, and his friends and 
himself feared that death would soon terminate 
his earthly existence. To remove, if possible, 
his complaint, and to restore his health, he -was 
recommended to try a change of scene, and to 
leave for a time his delightful retreat. He 
went first to Bristol in Pennsylvania, then to 
the celebrated mineral springs in the mount¬ 
ains of New Jersey, and latterly to Bethlehem, 
a town about fifty miles from Philadelphia. 
But he was little benefited by all these wan¬ 
derings ; and his father who accompanied him, 
having been seized with sudden and severe 
indisposition, they instantly bent their course 
homeward. 

Though Mr. Murray’s health was not much 
improved by his summer’s excursion, it was 
not altogether fruitless in good. He found 
that he was generally best when the weather 
was cold, that Bellevue was too secluded, and 
that the atmosphere w'as not sufficiently bra¬ 
cing. In these circumstances he was advised 
by his physicians to try the effect of a change 
of climate; and Yorkshire, in England, was 
fixed upon as the place of his retreat. Hav¬ 
ing made certain arrangements, he embarked 
with his wife in the close of the year 1784, 
and reached that country in safety. When 
he left America, he thought it would only be 
for a short season, and that he would soon re¬ 
turn to his own country and spend the re¬ 
mainder of his days with his early friends. 
Two years was the utmost he had assigned 
for his absence. But how short-sighted is 
man, and how very little does he know of the 
future ! tie never was able to return. His 
health was never restored; indeed, he never 
left the village in Yorkshire which he fixed 
upon as a temporary residence. He lived 
there an invalid for the long period of forty- 
two vears. 

It was not till the period of his residence in 
England that he became an author. Though 
he was confined to the house almost the whole 
of that time by bodily indisposition, his mind 
was active and vigorous. To prevent that 
tedium and irritability which bodily infirmity 
generally occasions, and also with the view 
of being useful to others, he wrote and pub¬ 
lished a work entitled, “ The Power of Re¬ 
ligion on the Mind.” It appeared anonymous- 
ly, and his object in publishing it -was purely 
benevolent. He distributed five hundred 
copies gratis among the inhabitants of York 
and its vicinity. The publication was well 
received; when it reached the sixth edition, 
he enlarged the work and put his name to it. 
After this he disposed of the copyright with¬ 
out any pecuniary recompense to an influential 
bookseller in London, and under his auspices 
it gained an extensive circulation. As he 














LINDLEY MURRAY. 


never contemplated any pecuniary advantage 
by the publication, but simply the benefit of 
others, it was peculiarly gratifying to him to 
receive from various quarters testimonies of 
approbation and assurances of the advantage 
which had been derived from its perusal. 
This was to him the source of great delight. 
Often did he express his thankfulness to the 
Author of his being that “ he had been the 
instrument, even in a small degree, of dis¬ 
seminating excitements to a pious and virtuous 
course of life.” 

His second publication was his “ Grammar 
of the English Language.” This work, which 
has gained such celebrity, was completed in 
less than a year. It was commenced in the 
spring of 1794, and published in the spring 
of 1795. He was induced to write it by some 
of his friends, who had established a school 
for young females in York. The first teach¬ 
ers were but indifferently qualified in this 
respect. These young persons he kindly in¬ 
structed in this particular branch of education 
at his own house, and afterward, chiefly at 
their request, published the grammar. He 
never designed it to be used beyond this school, 
but it soon found its way into other seminaries. 
It became in a short time a standard book, and 
for several years new editions of from 10,000 
to 12,000 were published. The number of 
copies sold of “The Abridgment of the Gram¬ 
mar,” which appeared in 1795, has been many 
millions. 

The great success which attended these 
publications, together with the beneficial in¬ 
fluence it had upon his mind, induced him to 
publish several other works. In the year that 
he published the “Abridgment of the Gram¬ 
mar” he published the “ Exercises and Key.” 
Shortly after, there appeared the “English 
Reader,” the “ Introduction to the Reader,” 
works which soon obtained an extensive cir¬ 
culation in the schools of Britain as well as in 
America. Between the years 1802 and 1807 
he published two French volumes, and a 
spelling-book for the use of schools. In ad¬ 
dition to these works, for which he is chiefly 
celebrated, he wrote a short treatise “on the 
Duty and Benefit of a Daily Perusal of the 
Eloly Scriptures,” and edited “ A Selection 
from Bishop Horne’s Commentary on the 
Psalms.” 

Idle copyrights of all these works were 
sold to one of tho first publishing houses in 
London, with the exception of the “Duty and 
Benefit of a Daily Perusal of the Holy Scrip¬ 
tures,” and the “ Power of Religion,” which 
were presented to the booksellers without any 
pecuniary compensation. The sum which he 
received for the whole scarcely amounted to 
c£3,000. The price was considered liberal 
by both the author and the publisher, and Mr. 


303 


Murray often expressed his delight that the 
copyrights had proved advantageous to the 
gentleman in Paternoster Row who had 
made the purchase of them. As far as he 
himself was concerned it made no difference, 
for his views in writing and publishing were 
never mercenary, his sole aim being to benefit 
others, the young in particular. The profits 
of his valuable publications he never applied 
to his own private use, but to charitable pur¬ 
poses, and it was to him the source of the 
purest satisfaction that, while he was the 
means of doing much for the education of the 
young, he at the same time was enabled to 
give a considerable sum to religious and be¬ 
nevolent institutions. 

It is a singular fact that Mr. Murray should 
have written all these works when an invalid. 
During the forty-two years he spent in Eng¬ 
land he could take little exercise, with the 
exception of a drive in his carriage, or being 
drawn about his garden in a chair constructed 
for that purpose. For the last sixteen years 
of his life, he was entirely confined to his 
room, and yet his mind was hale and vigorous. 
He was a hard student; and when his wife 
Or his friends expressed their apprehension 
that his close application might prove injurious 
to him, he would pleasantly say, “ It is better 
to wear away, than to rust away.” Not later 
than eight o’clock, summer and winter, he 
was rolled in a chair from his bed-room to his 
study, where he spent the day in writing, 
reading the Scriptures, and religious medita¬ 
tion. Never was a murmur heard to escape 
his lips. So far from this being the case, he 
was uniformly pleased, frequently cheerful, 
and always resigned. He often referred to the 
kindness of God, in preserving his mental 
faculties, and in giving him such an amount 
of temporal wealth as made him comfortable 
and independent, in blessing him with such an 
affectionate and beloved wife, and in the 
prospect which he had of a glorious immor¬ 
tality when life’s journey closed. These were 
some of the things which cheered the heart 
of this excellent man during the period of his 
long confinement. 

It is a singular circumstance, also, that his 
mental powers should have continued unim¬ 
paired to the very last. When fully fourscore 
years his mind was as vigorous as ever, and 
he was fully better than he had been for some 
years previous; and what was not less singu¬ 
lar, his hearing was good, his memory uncom¬ 
monly retentive, and his sight was so little 
injured that he could read the smallest print 
without the aid of spectacles. But the longest 
life must close, and the most useful man must 
bid adieu to the present scene. On the 10th 
of January, 1826, he was seized with a slight 
paralytic affection in his left hand which was 









304 SHIP ANCHORAGE AT WHAMPOA. 


of short duration. On the 13th of February 
he had a return of the same malady, which, 
by the use of means, was for a time mitigated. 
In the evening he was seized with acute pain, 
accompanied with violent sickness, and all at¬ 
tempts to afford relief proved ineffectual. It 
was death, and no human skill could avert 
the stroke. He bore the pain, which was 
excessive, with great meekness and fortitude; 
and on the 16th of February he expired. He 
was interred on the 22d of the same month in 
the burying-ground of the quakers, in the 
city of York, in the presence of a large assem¬ 
bly, where his remains lie, “far from friend 
and fatherland,” till the resurrection of the 
blessed. 

Such is a brief sketch of Lindley Murray, 
the grammarian—and we must add, the phi¬ 
lanthropist and the Christian. His endow¬ 
ments, intellectual and moral, were of a su¬ 
perior order; and few men have left behind 
them a higher reputation for wisdom, piety, 
and benevolence. His writings are a stand¬ 
ing memorial of his literary and intellectual 
qualifications; and his conduct in all the re¬ 
lations of life testifies that he was a virtuous, 
generous, and noble-minded man. He w r as 
modest and humble, free from everything like 
literary egotism or pharisaical boasting. Fie 
was a warm friend to the poor; and he took 
a deep interest in all religious and charitable 
institutions. In his will, after making provis¬ 
ion for his beloved and affectionate Hannah, 
and giving certain legacies to a number of 
relatives and friends, he left £25 each to 
seven different establishments at York, o£200 
to the British and Foreign Bible Society, and 
£200 to the African Institution. He directed 
that the residue of his property, after the de¬ 
cease of his wife, should be devoted to pious 
and benevolent uses. 

Mr. Murray was a member of the society 
of friends. He, as might be expected, was 
much esteemed by them, and they greatly 
mourned his loss. He was one of their 
brightest ornaments. But though attached to 
that highly respectable body of Christians, he 
was not a bigot: he had a great respect for 
religious persons of every name ; and used 
his influence to heal the breaches which un¬ 
happily exist in the Christian churches. He 
“loved the brotherhood,” and he longed for 
the day when Christians would be of “ one 
mind.” His testimony on this point is so ex¬ 
cellent, and so necessary to be remembered 
in these latter days, that we must give it at 
length:— 

“We are long in learning to judge wisely 
of one another, and to make charitable allow¬ 
ances for difference of understanding, disposi¬ 
tion, education, &c. Mankind are all breth¬ 
ren, the children of one F ather; they should, 


therefore, when we believe them to be sincere 
and upright, be received as fellow-partakers 
of the same privileges. ... I respect piety 
and virtue wherever I meet them. It would 
be a proof of my own superficiality or de¬ 
pravity if I valued a truly religious man the 
less for the name and the profession which he 
sustains. I trust that I shall ever be in¬ 
fluenced by the cheering sentiment that ev¬ 
ery man who sincerely loves God and works 
righteousness is accepted by him, and is en¬ 
titled to universal esteem and regard.” 

We have seen a portrait of this interesting 
and estimable man. He had a noble, a majes¬ 
tic look; he was tall, well proportioned, and 
rather stout. He had an open, cheerful 
countenance, with a forehead somewhat ele¬ 
vated. His complexion was dark. Though 
long confined to the house, he was not sickly 
looking, but ruddy. His hair toward the 
close of life became perfectly white ; and his 
whole appearance was dignified and prepos¬ 
sessing. A stranger in his presence felt a 
mingled sensation of admiration, reverence, 
and love ; and often the remark was made, 
that he realized our conceptions of the apostles 
and holy men who, in the early ages of Chris¬ 
tianity, dedicated themselves to the service of 
God in advancing the religion of his Son. 


SHIP ANCHORAGE AT WHAMPOA. 

The engraving gives a correct Anew of the 
island of Whampoa, lying in the Pearl river, 
about twelve miles east from Canton, in China. 
At this place the foreign vessels all anchor, 
and their loading is taken out by boats and 
carried to Canton, and their return cargo 
brought down. At the bottom of our engra¬ 
ving is represented a part of Dane’s island, 
which is a small rocky hill, where sailors are 
buried Avho die at this port. The price for 
burial-ground here is sixteen dollars, and ten 
more for permission to erect a grave-stone. 

West from Dane’s island, at the lefthand 
corner of the engraving, is represented a part 
of French island, on which are the tombs of 
many foreigners, residents, and captains. The 
price of land here is very high. 

Whampoa island is long and narrow. The 
anchorage extends two or three miles in 
length; the American A^essels generally occu¬ 
pying the higher births, and the English the 
lower. The river varies from fifty to one 
hundred rods wide, and from three to six 
fathoms deep. The tide rises from three to 
eight feet. The village on Whampoa island 
contains several thousand inhabitants. 

At the west end of this island is a petty cus- 











Ship Anchorage at Whampoa, China 




20 
















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































PROGRESS. 


306 


tomhouse, or guardhouse, where all Chinese 
boats, having anything to do with foreigners, 
are obliged to stop anti obtain a permit, called 
a chop, and the house is hence called a chop- 
house. 

Three pagodas are represented in our en¬ 
graving. That on the left hand near the 
edge, the top of which only is visible, is called, 
“ the half-way pagoda,” it being half-way 
from the anchorage to Canton. It is much 
decayed. This is the one from which some 
American sailors, some years ago, in a frolic, 
took one of the small images which are kept 
in the first story, and, on being discovered, 
they drowned the idol in the river, which cost 
the comprador and others some hundreds of 
dollars. The large pagoda, is called, by 
foreigners, the Whampoa pagoda. It is built 
of brick, nine stories high, amounting to from 
two hundred to two hundred and twenty feet. 
It is said to be in good repair. It is unin¬ 
habited, hollow, and octagonal. The date of 
its erection is said to be preserved within it, 

• and to be about four hundred years ago. The 
natives believe that, being very lofty, it has 
an influence on the air, and serves to avert 
storms and tempests. 

The other on the right side, is a small and 
modern-built pagoda, two or three stories high, 
and was built, as is said, to commemorate their 
victory over the British navy in 1808 . 

From the anchorage, at Whampoa, to the 
sea is about seventy-five miles. Macao lies 
near the sea. Lintin is an island in the river, 
half-way from Macao to Whampoa. Events 
within a few years past, have open several 
of the ports of China to the commerce of the 
world, and given a new impetus to trade with 
the celestial empire. 


PROGRESS. 

Motion or progress is a universal condition 
of created being. There is nothing in a state 
of rest; there is no standing still. The plan¬ 
ets are in motion, and so are the suns round 
which they roll. We speak of the restless 
wind ; it veereth about continually. The 
clouds rest not; the rivers rest not; the trou¬ 
bled sea—it “ can not rest.” The problem 
of the perpetual motion is demonstrated every 
day in the great workshop of nature. As¬ 
cending from rude to organized matter, we 
meet with the same law or condition of being. 
The fluids of living creatures, the juices of 
plants, are never altogether dormant. When 
they cease to move, there are dissolution and 
death—a change, but still no rest. The ma¬ 
terial elements, set free from their wonted 
channels, are thrown into the great laboratory 


of nature. They are dissolved—resolved 
into their constituent elements—and again 
thrown into new combinations. It is not 
a mere whim of fancy, to suppose that the 
rose of last summer will reappear in the snow¬ 
drop of next spring, and that we shall again 
meet with the lily of the valley in the bloom¬ 
ing heather-bell. 

Passing from the material to the immaterial 
world, the same remarkable fact meets us. 
In the regions of thought and consciousness, 
there is no repose. The man of to-day is dif¬ 
ferent from the man of yesterday. On the 
wings of restless thought, he has surveyed 
anew some provinces of the universe, which 
he had before visited, and seen them, as he 
had never seen them before ; or has dived to 
depths, or soared to heights, profounder or 
higher than upon any of his former wander¬ 
ings. In either case, he returns changed from 
what he was. Others of the shows and forms 
of nature, have been mirrored upon his soul. 
His emotions and affections, his feelings and 
passions, have been stirred, agitated—tossed 
it may have been—into multitudinous commo¬ 
tion. Fie has been the scene of a moral 
storm, and a change has passed upon his moral 
nature. The body of the stout-limbed and 
strong-armed man, whose “ breasts are full of 
milk, and whose bones are full of marrow,” 
is not more different from that of the red pal- 
py infant, or light-hearted boy, than is the 
mind of the one from that of the other. Prog¬ 
ress is a universal condition of intellectual 
existence—with one exception ; and that is in 
the case of Him who is “ the same yesterday, 
to-day, and for ever.” 

Looking more closely at this perpetual 
motion, we find that it is very irregular—not at 
all straight forward. This peculiarity of it is 
as universal as is the fact itself. It prevails 
in the rude unorganized world ; in the world 
of organization; and in the world of mind. 
The spheres move in circles or ellipses. The 
growth of the vegetable world is intermittent; 
and not less so is the growth of our intellect¬ 
ual and moral nature. The ocean tides are 
in perpetual flux and reflux, From singing 
its hoarse tempest-tune, the wind proceeds to 
warble its breeze-melody. From racing on 
the skyey plains across the face of the moon, 
the clouds assemble together as if to celebrate 
their sabbath in peace. And in the motions, 
and progresses of mind we can appeal to the ex¬ 
perience of our intelligent and reflective read¬ 
ers, whether this flux and reflux, this circular 
motion, this intermittent life, is not as strongly 
marked there as in the external world. 

There is a moral significance in this great 
natural fact, commensurate with the greatness 
of the fact itself. Does it not shadow forth 
the doctrine of human progress 1 And is not 


L 











PROGRESS. 


this one of the most important and pleasant 
doctrines which the mind can contemplate ? 
We see the whole material universe in motion. 
The law of progress is upon it, and guided by 
that law it moves on toward some grand con¬ 
summation, which, though ever nearing, it 
may never reach. In imagination’s eye, we 
see the worlds rising above the region of 
shadows, and emancipating themselves from 
those chaotic influences by which they are 
yet partially bound ; and we can anticipate 
the time when “ the light of the moon shall 
be as the light of the sun, and the light of the 
sun as the light of seven days.” 

But by far the highest anti most delightful 
aspect of this law of progress, is that which 
has reference to rational life and its destinies. 
Here also, as in the material world, we meet 
with circular and intermittent motion, and 
sometimes with what appears to be retrogres¬ 
sion. But it is impossible for a man to move 
round a circle of thought without increasing 
his intellectual vigor. Ilis motion may not 
be directly upward ; but in spiral circles, 
each rising above the other. By this wind¬ 
ing staircase he mounts to higher regions of 
intelligence, and at every succeeding step has 
a wflder range of vision; until at length, 
though not at last, he gazes around him with 
the ken of an angel. And while the horizon 
widens, and the future brightens upon his 
eye ; while he descries the far-off mountain- 
tops, radiant with the suns of eternity, he does 
not lose sight of the past; but its joys, more 
joyful than ever—its brightness, still bright¬ 
ening—its songs of gladness attuned to more 
soothing melodies, or harmonious concords— 
its cares and sorrows mellowed by distance— 
its yesterdays, hallowed by to-day, lie treas¬ 
ured up in his memory, and wander, a cease¬ 
less music, among his heartstrings. 

It is a blessed and bliss-giving doctrine, this 
of human progress. Yet sometimes we rebel 
against it, and lightly esteem the priceless in¬ 
heritance. We would blot it out from star 
and comet, from sun and moon, from the 
whole host of heaven, which, in their cease¬ 
less motions, hymn it in our ears. We would 
blot it out from the million-fold objects on 
which it is written over all the earth. We 
would blot it out from our own heart and soul. 
For have we not regrets and longings for the 
past ? Do we not sometimes say of the pres¬ 
ent, “ here would we make our rest for ever ?” 
It is not difficult to explain those faithless and 
effeminate moods and wishes. When per¬ 
plexities annoy us, and a host of difficulties 
surround us—when the battle of life waxes 
hot against us, and we seem to be losing 
ground—we would willingly take refuge in 
those early days when as yet responsibility 
was scarcely laid upon us, and others fought 


307 


our battles ; or when friends are around us, 
and health dances in every vein, we would 
fain cling to both, and rather make sure of the 
joys we have, than risk the loss of them, for 
others which w r e know not of. But reflection 
soon convinces us that there is no going back¬ 
ward ; a little more, that there is no standing 
still; and yet a little more, that it is not de¬ 
sirable to do either the one or the other : but 
that the doctrine of progress is as desirable as 
it is ennobling. 

But, after all, the human heart sympathizes 
with this doctrine of progress. Schiller's 
sublime hymn upon hope, can scarcely fail to 
agitate tumultuously yet delightfully the hu¬ 
man breast:— 

“ The future is man’s immemorial hymn, 

In vain runs the present a-wasting; 

To a golden goal in the distance dim, 

In life, in death, he is hasting ; 

The world grows old. and young, and old, 

Yet the ancient story still bears to be told. 

"Hope smiles on the boy from the hour of his birth, 
To the youth it gives bliss without limit; 

It gleams for old age as a star on earth, 

And the darkness of death can not dim it; 

Its rays will gild even fathomless gloom, 

When the pilgrim of life lies down in the tomb. 

“ Never deem it a shibboleth phrase of the crowd, 
Never call it the dream of a rhymer: 

The instinct of nature proclaims it aloud— 

We are destined for something sublirner ! 

This truth, which the witness within reveals, 

The purest worshipper deepliest feels.” 

Seems it not as if an angel bad sung it ? and 
as if while he sung, another angel had drawn 
aside—thrown to right and left—the curtains 
of futurity, and a flood of glory from the 
land that is afar off had spread around our 
path ? Who would go backward now ? 
Who would stand still ? What are the per¬ 
ils that lie between us and those regions whith¬ 
er the bright inhabitants are inviting us ? 
They are not “ worthy to be compared with 
the glory which shall be revealed.” It eclip¬ 
ses the brightness of our midsummer sunlight; 
it blots out all the stars. It draws us with 
the cords of a sweet compulsion toward its 
own fountains ; and we willingly leave behind 
us our dearly-cherished earth, and go onward 
to perfection. 

This doctrine of progress is proclaimed, 
trumpet-tongued, by innumerable providential 
facts. History instructs us that the human 
race have gravitated, however little and how¬ 
ever slowly, toward the centre of perfection. 
It is engraven on the human heart—it is en¬ 
twined with our intellectual being; and hence 
those longings after immortality, those aspira¬ 
tions for something holier and sublirner, which 
we have all experienced in our better moods. 
That which external nature declares, and 
which our hearts long for, has had light shed 








303 THE LAW OF KINDNESS. 


■upon it from the pages of revelation. There 
we are instructed to leave first principles and 
go on to perfection—are taught to expect a 
millenium for the world, and something more 
glorious than eye hath seen, or ear heard, or 
heart hath conceived, beyond it. 

Contemplated in the light of this great 
truth all difficulties vanish. The enigma of 
human life becomes a thin" which a child can 

O 

understand. We are surrounded with evil 
and suffering. A moral chaos rages around 
us, m the vortices of which, we are sometimes 
apt to think, all beauty and goodness are in 
danger of being swallowed up and lost. Thus 
it has been for nearly six thousand years. 
Nations have run the circle of crime and suf¬ 
fering ; have lived unhappily and passed 
away ingloriously. Others have succeeded 
them, but to run the same fatal circle, and to 
reach the same inglorious goal. As with na¬ 
tions, so with individuals; only they have 
played a briefer part. It is a dark and melan¬ 
choly picture. But when surveyed in the 
light of this law of progress; when we are 
able to believe that in this moral chaos there 
has been a principle of order, ever tending to 
mould it into an harmonious and orderly sys¬ 
tem ; and when we find from history, that 
this principle has not operated altogether in 
vain—we see the possibility of a millenium 
for the world ; and when we think upon what 
individual men have become—when w r e re¬ 
member that the law of progress is upon all, 
and that a moral gravitation attracts all to¬ 
ward its centre of inconceivable happiness and 
unseen beatitude—the seeming chaos ceases 
to send forth its discords; light flashes upon 
its darkness; it begins to rise, and soar, and 
sing—onward, upward, without rest, for ever 
and for ever! 

Our brief article is suggestive rather than 
illustrative. But its leading idea radiates in 
all directions—backward, to the morn of time; 
forward, through the cycles of eternity. We 
must read history with a faith in this law of 
progress; and, with the same faith, we must 
read the brief and feverish history of our own 
life. Note its small and feeble beginnings. 
Look at the hope in the cradle, the prattling 
child at its mother’s knee. Is it not some¬ 
thing worth thinking of, that that child has 
implanted within it faculties capable of ex¬ 
panding to the dimensions of those of the 
archangel—affections capable of loving -with 
a love pure and warm as that of the seraphim ? 
Not only so, but also of reaching the height 
to which those great and pure beings have 
now attained ? Here the optimist can revel, 
and luxuriate ; the great facts of nature, his 
own reason, and revelation also, assuring him 
that his faith and rejoicing are well founded. 
And while a sound philosophy will teach him 


that the doctrine of human perfectability is a 
fable, it will also teach him of another and 
more exalted doctrine—that of the eternity of 
human progress. 


THE LAW OF KINDNESS. 

Tiie power which this law now has upon 
society is one of the happiest effects of the 
diffusion of Christian principles. With all its 
pride, self-seeking, and vice, it need not be 
doubted that there is more kindness in the 
world at present than at any former period of 
its history. The annals of antiquity, while 
recording not a few instances of heroism and 
devotion, seem to hold them up rather as ex¬ 
ceptions to the prevailing selfishness and cru¬ 
elty, than as examples of the general tone of so¬ 
ciety. Their heroes are exhibited as objects 
of wonder rather than patterns for imitation. 
Now-a-days, mankind are gradually getting 
on more friendly terms with one another. 
They seem to have found out that there is 
really more pleasure, and profit too, in good¬ 
nature and kindly intercourse, than in blus¬ 
tering, quarrelling, and fighting. Deeds of 
atrocity, which in former times were looked 
upon pretty much as matters of course, can 
not now be committed with impunity. Any 
one known to have done or sanctioned an act 
of wanton cruelty to a fellow-creature, or even 
to an inferior animal, is from that moment a 
marked man, and can not be tolerated in any 
circle, even the lowest. Society has feelings 
attuned to the great doctrine of human brother¬ 
hood, and will not submit to have them wan¬ 
tonly outraged. “Hypocrisy,” says an il¬ 
lustrious moralist, “ is the tribute which vice 
pays to virtueand even the rudest natures 
must now assume at least the appearance of 
civility and courtesy, if they would not dwell 
altogether apart from their kind. 

The time is not long gone by, when fighting 
was looked upon as almost the only real work 
men had to do upon the earth. Only a few 
centuries ago, our own forefathers were much 
more like worshippers of Thor and Odin, than 
Christians, as they fancied themselves. Ev¬ 
ery country in Europe—every province, dis¬ 
trict, town, nay, family—had their “natural 
enemies,” with whom they deemed it quite 
right and proper to fight whenever the humor 
seized them. Up to the middle of the fifteenth 
century, hardly one of the kings of England 
or Scotland died a natural death. Fathers 
destroyed their children, children deposed and 
murdered their fathers, without mercy or re¬ 
morse. A man’s worst foes were those of his 
own household; and yet the perpetrators of 
these atrocities, so soon as they had secured 












THE LAW OF KINDNESS. 309 


their own position, went forth in high state 
and honor, no one daring to say they had done 
wrong. In our times, even the most towering 
ambition would utterly fail in its purposes did 
it seek to compass them by such unscrupulous 
means. Natural enemies is a term which no¬ 
body thinks of now using. If war is still de¬ 
fended, it is entirely on the plea of self-de¬ 
fence—as a coarse but necessary kind of police 
regulation, to check the encroachments of li¬ 
centiousness, tyranny, or rapacity. We hear 
much less about its glorious, and a great deal 
more about its uselessness, impolicy, and guilt. 
Duelling, that most barbarous legacy of bar¬ 
barian times, is fast becoming unfashionable 
and even odious. Penal laws, about the last 
things cautious men like to meddle with, are 
being gradually ameliorated. Prevention of 
crime, rather than the punishment of it, is 
now the prominent tendency of our criminal 
enactments; and it seems to be felt that some¬ 
thing of pity for the criminal may be consist¬ 
ent with hatred of crime, and the preservation 
of good order. For all this we do not think 
the world any better than it should be, or give 
it one particle of credit. It is all going on, 
just apparently because people can not help 
it; because there is a power at work stronger 
than the bad passions of human nature ; be¬ 
cause Christianity, in spite of all obstacles, is 
becoming the great law of society. 

In the domestic relations of life—those sim¬ 
plest, most spontaneous, yet most permanent 
of all institutions — these principles have 
achieved some of their noblest triumphs. Few 
sufficiently reflect upon what has thus been 
done for the elevation of the female character. 
Yet that revolution which raised woman from 
the rank of man’s slave to that of his com¬ 
panion, which unfolded all the tenderness and 
strength of her nature, by proclaiming her an 
heir of immortality and a daughter of heaven, 
is one of the most momentous ever achieved. 
It has made her a help meet for man—his 
better genius, to wean him from vice and al¬ 
lure him to virtue. We hesitate not to say 
that the true character of woman is unknown, 
her rights unacknowledged, beyond the bound¬ 
aries of Christianity. Once step without the 
sphere of its operations, and we find her de¬ 
graded and oppressed, and men by consequence 
sensual and brutalized; and exactly in pro¬ 
portion to the strength of its influence in any 
quarter, is the true dignity of woman estima¬ 
ted, and her power appropriately exerted. 
If, as we devoutly believe, our mothers, wives, 
and daughters, are, on the whole, patterns 
to their sex throughout the world, it needs 
little penetration to see whence this lofty dis¬ 
tinction is derived. That gentle and devoted 
kindness in which lies the secret of their in¬ 
fluence is but the reflection of the universal 


benevolence which Christianity inculcates, 
and which has won for them from the haughty 
lords of creation something like an equality of 
privileges. 

In the mode in which the education of 
children is now conducted, very great im¬ 
provements are perceptible. We do not there¬ 
by allude to the more useful and practical na¬ 
ture of the knowledge imparted, but to the 
more kindly manner in which this is done. 
The stories our grandfathers tell us about their 
schoolmasters almost make our hair stand on 
end. They seem to have been the veriest 
tyrants in existence. They taught their pu¬ 
pils as bears are taught to dance—simply by 
flogging; and never dreamed that the little 
learning they had to communicate, could be 
drilled in by any other process. To the axiom 
of the wise man, “He that spareth the rod, 
hateth the child,” they gave the fullest and 
most literal interpretation. The teachers of 
our day are discovering much milder and 
more effectual modes of imparting knowledge. 
Children are coming to be regarded as beings 
who have affections to be won, and under¬ 
standings to be appealed to; and of course, 
the birch and the strap are fast disappearing. 
Now, we hold this state of things to be one 
of the surest indications of an improved moral 
tone in society. No teacher who reflects that 
the child committed to his charge is an im¬ 
mortal creature like himself, no man whose 
mind is embued with true Christian benevo¬ 
lence—and such only are entitled to hold the 
high position of instructors of youth—will 
seek to impart knowledge through the medium 
of cruelty. In fact, any one who should at¬ 
tempt to do so could not compete in the mar¬ 
ket. His method would not work; or it 
would work so lamely in contrast with the far 
more effectual systems of which kindness is 
the basis, that he would be compelled to 
change it, or be driven from the field. Who 
can estimate the progress future generations, 
trained up under these better principles, are 
yet destined to make in knowledge and virtue. 

In many of the other relations of society, 
the same tendencies may be seen in operation. 
There are a great number of good, kind people 
in the world just at this moment. Let any 
one look around, among his friends and neigh¬ 
bors, and try to reckon up the various acts of 
real benevolence they have performed toward 
himself—the many obligations he has received 
from persons who had nothing to expect from 
him except perhaps his thanks—and he will 
be surprised at the largeness of the catalogue. 
Such people may not be Christians in the 
highest sense of that high title; but the pow¬ 
er of Christianity constrains them notwith¬ 
standing. Then look at our benevolent in¬ 
stitutions—our hospitals, our infirmaries, our 







310 THE LAW OF KINDNESS. 


societies for the relief of the stranger and 
destitute, our bible and missionary associations, 
to say nothing of the heroism which inspires 
high-souled and disinterested men to go forth 
to distant regions, braving pestilence, and 
famine, and the cruelties of savage tribes, to 
communicate the “glad tidings of great joy.’’ 

There are not a few philosophers who puz¬ 
zle themselves to account by other causes than 
the real one for the progress society has made. 
They would seek these in the heights above 
or in the depths beneath, rather than in those 
sovereign principles by which the diffused 
spirit of Christianity speaks everywhere to 
their own hearts. Some ascribe the improved 
tone of manners and morals to a vague neces¬ 
sity of advancement, impressed they neither 
know how nor why on human affairs. Others 
look for its cause in the progress of commercial 
intercourse; and place the gradual regenera¬ 
tion of the world to the account of mere self¬ 
ishness. Others, again, think they have found 
it in the diffusion of secular knowledge, and 
regard intellect as the great ameliorator of the 
world. Such persons are not perhaps wilfully 
blind; but they show how willing men are to 
take credit to themselves for blessings which 
they owe entirely to the bounty of Heaven. 
There is in the world one power, omnipotent 
and everlasting, and that power is love—the 
gift of Christ. No social institution can con¬ 
flict with it—no one based on it will ever per¬ 
ish. It possesses a creative and sustaining 
energy which nothing can resist. Pride, am¬ 
bition, anger, all merely human passions, ex¬ 
haust themselves, and leave desolation behind ; 
but their effects soon disappear, and on the 
ruins they have ceased divine love rears new 
structures which will last for ever. That si¬ 
lent but sure progress of society, which the 
atheist ascribes to an aimless necessity, the 
Christian regards as the natural operation of 
the principles of the gospel; and he views 
the extended intercourse and diffused knowl¬ 
edge of the times as vehicles whereby its 
principles may be more widely communicated. 
These principles go forth to an assured tri¬ 
umph ; for their great law is the perfection 
of all things—the law of benevolence—of 
love. 

These remarks are thrown out chiefly as 
hints for reflection, and not without the con¬ 
viction that there is much to detract from the 
cheerfulness of the view we have taken. The 
law of kindness, the obligation of continually 
doing good, still requires to be far more uni¬ 
versally felt. Even good men, who would 
little relish to be called unchristian, must be 
conscious of a frequent tendency to act as 
though it admitted of some exceptions and 
reservations. There is current among the 
French a legend of one of their early confes¬ 


sors, which very quaintly embodies the ope¬ 
ration of this tendency. Craving the indul¬ 
gence of the reader, we shall offer it in illus¬ 
tration, the more readily as it may excuse us 
from any seeming encroachment on the prov¬ 
ince of the pulpit. Listen then to the para¬ 
ble of the Hermit of Gaul:— 

At a time when the majority of the tribes 
of Gaul were yet ignorant of the gospel of 
Christ, there lived an old man called Novaire, 
who had freely received the glad tidings, and 
diligently sought to comprehend them thor¬ 
oughly. Abandoning the pleasures of the 
world, he retired to a solitary hill, near the 
place where Lillebonne now stands, and there 
reared a cabin of turf, where he dwelt alone, 
alternately occupied in endeavors to expand 
his own views and to communicate the truth 
to the people round about. 

Here it came to pass, after much meditation 
and prayer, that the dark veil which shrouds 
the invisible world from mortal view was lifted 
from his eyes, and he was permitted to gaze 
on the pathways of the sky, without losing 
his ken of earthly things. He distinguished 
at the same time the secrets of the visible and 
invisible universe. His vision wandered over 
the woods, the plains, the waters; then, 
glancing higher, it embraced the region tra¬ 
versed by the messengers of light; while, 
above all, it penetrated into the celestial hab¬ 
itations. He listened devoutly to the music 
of the spheres, the voice of the cherubim, and 
the hosannahs of the blessed. Angels brought 
his food, and freely discoursed to him on these 
secrets which are hidden from the world. 
Thus his days passed in a perpetual and heav¬ 
enly delight. Familiarized to the intercourse 
of pure intelligences, he gradually felt all vul¬ 
gar ambitions dying away within him, as the 
lessening stars vanish before the sun; and, 
proud of a knowledge thus lifted above the 
earth, he wished still further to penetrate the 
mysteries of God. While listening to the 
living accents which composed the eternal 
hymn of the creation to the glory of its Au¬ 
thor, he constantly said to himself— 

“Why can not I understand what the birds 
utter in their songs, the breezes in their whis¬ 
perings, the insects in their hummings, the 
waves in their rolling, the angels in their ce¬ 
lestial hymns ?—in these ought to be found the 
great law which rules the world !” 

But all the eilorts of his mind to penetrate 
so profound a mystery were useless: he ac¬ 
quired nothing by his endeavors save hardness 
of heart and spiritual pride. His visits of 
mercy to the plain became less frequent, and 
his intercourse with its inhabitants more haugh¬ 
ty and supercilious; for the growth of knowl- 
edge by itself can only be likened to that of 
the trees of the forest, which can not extend 











THE LAW OF KINDNESS. 311 


their roots without drying up all around them. 
That knowledge may be beneficent and fruit¬ 
ful, it is necessary it should be watered from 
the fountains of the heart. 

One day, when the hermit had descended 
from his mountain, which preserved a per¬ 
petual verdure, in order to traverse the wintry 
valley below, he saw coming from another di¬ 
rection a numerous group of men, who were 
leading a criminal to the scaffold. The peas¬ 
ants gathered to see him pass, and spoke loud¬ 
ly of his crimes; but the doomed one smiled 
as he heard them, and, far from giving any 
sign of repentance, he seemed to glory in his 
past misdeeds. At length, as he passed the 
recluse, he all at once stopped, and cried out 
in a tone of raillery—“Come here, holy man, 
and give your blessing and the kiss of peace 
to one who is going to die.” 

But Novaire indignantly repulsed him, say¬ 
ing, “Pass on to yuur fate, miserable wretch; 
pure lips may not be contaminated by contact 
with such as thee.” 

The poor creature turned away without 
further reply, and Novaire, still agitated, pro¬ 
ceeded onward to his hermitage. 

But when arrived there he paused with a 
looked of consternation : the aspect of every¬ 
thin!; had changed. The trees which the 
presence of angels had preserved in perennial 
verdure, were become leafless as those of the 
valley; there, where, a few hours before, the 
blossoming eglantine had exhaled its delight- 
ful fragrance, the white hoar-frost was glisten¬ 
ing, and the scanty and withered moss reveal¬ 
ed the bare rocks beneath. 

Novaire longed anxiously for the coming 
of the celestial messenger, who every day 
brought him his food, to learn the cause of 
this sudden change; but the messenger ap¬ 
peared not; the invisible world was closed to 
him, and he was thrown back into the ignor¬ 
ance and miseries of humanity. He under¬ 
stood that God had punished him, though he 
guessed not the fault he had committed. How¬ 
ever, he submitted without murmuring, and 
kneeling on the hill—“ Since I have offended 
thee, O my Creator,” said he, “ A am worthy 
of the utmost punishment thou mayest inflict. 
From this day I shall quit my solitude; and I 
vow to travel straight on, without other re¬ 
pose than that of the night, till thou art gra¬ 
ciously pleased to vouchsafe me some visible 
token of thy forgiveness.” 

With these words Novaire took up his staff, 
girded his loins with a leathern belt, fastened 
his sandals, and, casting a parting look on his 
beloved residence, he directed his course tow¬ 
ard the wild peninsula which, at a later time, 
received the name of the “ land of blossoms.” 
In this country, now covered with villages, 
farmsteads, and cultivated fields, no path could 


then be traced except that worn by the foot¬ 
steps of the unreclaimed beasts of the forest. 
In his toilsome way he had to ford rivers, trav¬ 
erse morasses, penetrate thickets, sometimes 
finding, at wide intervals, a few poor habita¬ 
tions, whose masters frequently refused him 
entrance. But Novaire suffered all these 
fatigues and privations with great serenity. 
Sustained by the hope of once more recover¬ 
ing the lost favor of Heaven, he opposed resig¬ 
nation to grief, and patience to all obstacles. 

In this way he at length arrived at the ex¬ 
tremity of the peninsula, not far from the spot 
where the celebrated abbey of Jumieges was 
afterward built.* Here a forest then extend¬ 
ed, whose recesses afforded shelter to pirates, 
who, in light shallops of osier covered with 
skins, attacked the ships which passed up and 
down the river laden with merchandise. One 
evening, as the traveller quickened his pace 
to reach the banks, he came upon an open 
glade, where four of these outlaws were seared 
round a fire of dried brushwood. At sight of 
him they rose, ran toward him, and brought 
him near the fire, the more easily to despoil 
him. They seized his book, his cincture, his 
garment; and, seeing that he had nothing else, 
they deliberated whether he should then be 
set at liberty. But the oldest of them, named 
Toderick, suggested that he should be kept, 
and made to row the boat, to which the others 
agreed. 

Novaire was then bound with chains, and 
became the slave of the four pirates. He was 
compelled to cook for them, to clean their 
arms, mend the boat, and sometimes to steer 
it, receiving no other recompense for his labor 
than blows and hard words. Toderick es¬ 
pecially showed him little pity; and, joining 
raillery to cruelty, constantly demanded of the 
poor prisoner what availed the power of his 
God. One day, however, the four pirates as¬ 
sailed a vessel descending the Seine, which 
they supposed to be laden with rich merchan¬ 
dise ; but it so happened that she contained a 
body of armed men, who saluted them with a 
shower of arrows so well directed, that three 
of the bandits were killed on the spot, and the 
fourth, who was Toderick, received a wound 
in the body, apparently mortal. 

Novaire then turned the prow of the shallop 
toward the river bank, which he succeeded in 
gaining. He now at length found himself at 
liberty, and his first impulse was to fly from 
a place where he had endured such misery; 
but touched with pity for those who had so 
long injured him, he gave sepulture to the 

* The peninsula alluded to is formed by the wind¬ 
ings of the Seine, a little below Rouen in Normandy. 
The abbey of Jumieges was founded in the seventh 
century, and became one of the most distinguished 
religious houses iu France. It is now in ruins. 








312 ST. PAUL’S CHURCH, NEW YORK. 


three slain pirates, and then approached Tode- 
rick. The unhappy man, judging Novaire 
by his own savage disposition, supposed that 
he would now take vengeance for the cruelty 
he had shown him, and said, “ Kill me, but 
do not torture me.” 

But Novaire replied, “So far from taking 
thy life, my friend, I shall do all in my power 
to save it.” 

The pirate was astonished and deeply moved. 
“ That is not in the power of man,” said 
he, “ for I feel the chill of death creeping fast 
round my heart; but if you indeed wish well 
to me, notwithstanding all 1 have made you 
suffer, give me a little water to quench my 
thirst.” 

Novaire ran to the nearest spring, and 
brought water to the wounded man. When 
he had drunk, he raised his eyes, now fast 
glazing in death, and looked steadily on the 
hermit. “ Thou hast truly returned good for 
evil,” he said, faintly; “wilt thou do yet 
more, and accord the kiss of peace to a guilty 
and dying creature?” 

“I will, cheerfully,” said Novaire; “ and 
may it prove to thee a sign of pardon from 
that merciful God whose law thou hast so 
long broken, and whom thou hast offended 
more deeply than thou couldst any of his 
creatures.” With these words he knelt be¬ 
side the pirate, who received the kiss of peace, 
and immediately expired. 

At the same instant, a voice resounding 
through the air uttered these words: “ Novaire, 
thy trial is at an end. God has punished thee 
for having refused thy pity to one who was 
merely guilty: thou shalt now be rewarded 
for having blessed him who was thine enemy. 
All the treasure thou didst lose by hardness 
of heart, thou hast regained by a victorious 
charity. Raise, then, thine eyes, and open 
thine ears, for now again thou canst hear the 
voices of the earth and of the heavens.” 

Novaire, who had listened to the voice 
mute and trembling, raised his head. The 
trees, blighted by the blast of winter, seemed 
all at once to have become verdant; the frozen 
brooks again flowed in their channels; the 
birds sung among the blossoming shrubs; 
while, high in heaven, he beheld, like Jacob, 
the angels ascending and descending on their 
missions to the earth, the cherubim sailing 
amid the clouds, the archangels flashing their 
swords of fire, and the saints chanting their 
celestial hymns! And all these several sounds 
formed one harmonious anthem, of which the 
ever-recurring burden was—“ Love one an¬ 
other.” 

Then Novaire pressed his forehead to the 
ground, and exclaimed—“Mercy, O Father, 
ever blessed ! This day have I indeed learn¬ 
ed what is the great law." 


ST, PAUL’S CHURCH, NEW YORK. 

Ecclesiastical architecture in the United 
States owes much to the taste and liberality 
of the protestant episcopal church. In pro¬ 
portion to her numbers and wealth, she has 
surpassed all other denominations in the cost¬ 
liness and elegance of her edifices for public 
worship. Her churches are among the most 
admired ornaments of our large cities. She 
has, for the most part, adopted the style of 
architecture best adapted to the purposes of 
religion, and her models have not unfrequent- 
ly been selected from the most chaste and 
splendid structures of past ages. New York 
has from an early period taken the lead in the 
beauty and grandeur of her church edifices; 
and several of them are unsurpassed by any 
similar structures in this country. Trinity 
church is a magnificent building. St. Paul’s 
and St. John’s are universally admired ; and, 
in point of beauty, Grace church has no su¬ 
perior. St. Paul’s, though erected before the 
revolution, is one of the richest and most im¬ 
posing ornaments of the city, and is universal¬ 
ly regarded with admiration. 

The accompanying beautiful engraving pre¬ 
sents a view of this most ancient and venera¬ 
ble of the episcopal churches in the city of 
New York, taken from a position near the 
corner of Fulton street and Broadway. It of 
course presents the south side, the eastern por¬ 
tico, and the steeple of this beautiful church. 
The plate shows also the junction of Broad¬ 
way and Yesey street, and on the opposite 
corner from the church, the Astor house, one 
of tire largest, and the most costly buildings of 
the kind in the Union. This immense pile 
was erected by John J. Astor, of granite from 
the eastern quarries, at the cost of half a 
million of dollars, for the purpose, as nearly 
all his investments have been, of personal 
emolument, combined with public utility. In 
its imposing exterior, in the arrangement of 
its various apartments, and in its general 
adaptation to the object of its construction, it 
is believed to be superior to any similar estab¬ 
lishment on this continent. The space it oc¬ 
cupies in the engraving seemed to require this 
brief notice. 

There are few, if any, more chaste and 
finished specimens of ecclesiastical architec¬ 
ture in the United States, than St. Paul’s 
chapel. It is now the oldest edifice belonging 
to the episcopal church in this city. The 
first Trinity, of which corporation St. Paul’s 
has always been a chapel, was erected at an 
earlier period—so also was St. George’s, but 
the former was destroyed in the great con¬ 
flagration of 1776, and the latter, with the ex¬ 
ception of the walls, was burnt in 1814. St. 
Paul’s was commenced in 1764, and finished 







St. Paul’s Church, and the As tor House, Broadway. 



i 


J 


— 





































































































































































































































































































































































































































314 ST. PAUL'S CHURCH, NEW YORK. 


in 1766. It was then a beautiful edifice, but 
there have since been made some alterations, 
which have greatly improved in general ap¬ 
pearance, and given it the strikingly chaste 
and harmonious proportions exhibited in the 
engraving. It was erected by the vestry of 
Trinity, and chiefly at the expense of that 
corporation. 

Divine service was performed for the first 
time in St. Paul’s on the 30th of October, 
1776. The Rev. Samuel Auchmuty, D. D., 
was then rector of Trinity; and the Rev. 
Charles Inglis, since bishop of Nova Scotia, 
and the Rev. John Ogilvie, D. D., were as¬ 
sistant ministers. 

St. Paul’s chapel is situated on the west 
side of Broadway, near its junction with 
Chatham street—the grounds connected with 
it being bounded on the north by Vesey, on 
the east by Broadway, on the south by Fulton, 
and on the west by Church street. The 
ground on which it stands, with the surround¬ 
ing cemetery, is four hundred feet in length, 
by one hundred and eighty in breadth, and is 
enclosed by a substantial iron railing. The 
material of which it is constructed is a dark 
gray stone. The order of architecture is 
chiefly Corinthian. Its thick and massive 
walls form a parallelogram, containing eigh¬ 
teen thousand two hundred and twelve square 
feet, the main body of the edifice being one 
hundred and twelve feet, six inches in length, 
and seventy-three feet in breadth. Its east 
end fronts on Broadway, and presents a hand¬ 
some portico, composed of four Roman Ionic 
columns, supporting a chaste and beautiful 
pediment. The depth of the portico is eigh¬ 
teen feet, six inches, and it is raised about 
three feet above the surface of the ground. 

On the west end of the chapel there is a 
tower projection of seven feet, six inches, and 
a tower portico of thirteen feet. These pro¬ 
jections, added to the main building, make its 
whole length one hundred and flfty-one feet, 
six inches. In the place of the present ele¬ 
gantly-proportioned and handsome steeple, 
there was originally a small, ill-shaped dome, 
which served rather as a covering for the 
tower, than as an ornament to the edifice. 

The feeling has generally prevailed among 
churchmen, that the eastern end of their 
churches was the appropriate place for the 
chancel. In accordance with this feeling, the 
tower and dome, and afterward the steeple 
of St. Paul’s, were erected on the western 
end, the east being reserved for the chancel, 
as its proper position. The height of the 
tower is one hundred feet, and it is construct¬ 
ed of the same material as the main building. 
Above the roof there are two sections. The 
lower one, with the exception of what are 
called rusticated corners, is perfectly plain. 


The upper one has pilasters on the angles, 
and two Ionic columns in the centre. These 
columns sustain a small pediment, over which, 
between two consoles, inverted, is placed the 
dial of the clock. In this upper section are 
two bells, which formerly belonged to Trinity. 
The quadrangular section immediately above 
the tower, is of the Ionic order, with appro¬ 
priate columns, pilasters and pediments. 'The 
other two sections are octangular, of the Corin¬ 
thian and composite orders, supported by 
columns at the angles. The faces of the 
highest section are well panelled, and taper 
gradually to the large gilt ball which crowns 
the apex. 

The steeple rises one hundred and three feet 
above the tower, to the top of the vane, ma¬ 
king the whole height two hundred and three 
feet from the ground. It is built of wood, but 
it is painted to resemble stone, and it has much 
the appearance of being really so. It was not 
erected until some time subsequent to the 
revolution. The fine proportions and beauty, 
which now render it scarcely inferior to any 
other, in either the city or country, are owing 
to its having been, with one or two unimport¬ 
ant exceptions, an exact imitation of the stee¬ 
ple of a church, which was designed by the 
great architect, Sir Christopher Wren, gen¬ 
erally known as St. Martin’s in the Fields— 
a church in London, much celebrated for its 
architectural elegance. 

The front of the chapel is generally more 
admired for its harmonious proportions, and 
general beauty, than any other part of the 
building, not even the steeple being excepted. 
The portico is a superb specimen of science 
and art. Four Roman Ionic columns support 
a pediment, which is ornamented by fine pro¬ 
jecting cornices. The effect is much increased 
by two circular windows, between which, at 
an equal distance from either, in a niche, is 
placed a colossal figure of St. Paul, leaning 
on a richly carved sword. The altar-window, 
under the pediment, adds greatly to the beauty 
of this part of the chapel. It has three com¬ 
partments, the centre of which runs into an 
arch, and is separated from the side ones, by 
two Ionic pilasters. This window, the glass 
of which is colored, lights the chancel. From 
the portico there are two entrances to the in¬ 
terior of the chapel, one on either side of the 
altar window; and over each of them is a 
window, with an arch suitable to its position. 
In the small vestibule at these entrances, a 
spiral staircase leads to the galleries. 

A splendid monument, in basso-relievo, 
erected to the memory of Major-General Rich¬ 
ard Montgomery, by"the Congress of the Uni¬ 
ted States, occupies the middle of this win- 
, dow. The following is the inscription upon 
! the monument:— 








LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 315 


This monument is erected by order of Congress, 
25th January, 1776, to transmit to posterity a grateful 
remembrance of the patriotism, conduct, enter¬ 
prise, and perseverance of Major General 
RICHARD MONTGOMERY, 
who, after a series of successes, amidst the most 
discouraging difficulties, fell in the attack on 
QUEBEC, 3lst Decbr., 1775, aged 37 years 

Underneath this, cut in a white marble slab, 
fixed in the wall, is the following record :— 

The State of New York 
caused the remains of 
Major Genl. RICHARD MONTGOMERY 
to be conveyed from Quebec, 
and deposited beneath this monument, 
the 8th day of July, 

1818. 

The interior of St. Paul's chapel has been 
not much less generally admired than its ex¬ 
terior. Though a period of eighty years has 
passed since its construction, yet there are few 
churches which present an interior finish, so 
chaste and beautiful. 

The chancel is raised one foot six inches 
above the ground floor. It is fifteen feet deep, 
by twenty-nine in length, and is enclosed by a 
carved railing. Against the walls which sepa¬ 
rate it from the eastern vestibules, are two 
Ionic pilasters, from the entablatures of which 
an arch is thrown across the body of the chapel, 
forming a line of division between the chancel 
and the nave. 

The altar is placed under the altar window, 
and above it are the two tables of the law. 
The whole seems to be illumined by rays 
from a representation of the visible manifes¬ 
tation of the Deity on Mount Sinai. The 
walls of the chancel are entirely without or¬ 
nament, but they contain six mural monu¬ 
ments of beautiful design, and admirable 
sculpture. 

In the cemetery around the chapel, there 
are numerous monuments, some of which are 
fine specimens of art; but the most remarka¬ 
ble one, in its design and execution, is that of 
Thomas Addis Emmet, standing near to the 
chapel, on its south side, and to Broadway. 
The material is white marble, of thirty feet 
elevation, having on the face toward Broad¬ 
way a bust of Mr. Emmet, sculptured in 
basso-relievo, and on three sides inscriptions 
in the Latin, English and Irish languages; 
the Latin by John Duer, LL. D., the Eng¬ 
lish by the Hon. Gillian C. Verplanck, and 
the Irish by the late Right Rev. Dr. England, 
Roman Catholic bishop of Charleston, South 
Carolina. The inscription in the English 
language is in the finest taste, and exceeding¬ 
ly beautiful; and it should have a place in 
every full description of St. Paul’s chapel. 
It is as follows :— 


In memory op 

THOMAS ADDIS EMMET, 

Who exemplified in his conduct and adorned by his 
integrity the policy and principles of the United Irishmen 
—“ To forward a brotherhood of affection, a community 
of rights, an identity ot interests, and a union of power 
among Iris-hmen of every religious persuasion, as 
the only means of Ireland’s chief good, an 
impartial and adequate representation in an 
Irish Parliament.” For this (mysterious 
fate ot virtue!) exiled from his native land. 

In America, the land of freedom, he found a second 
country, which paid his love by reverencing his 
genius. Learned in our laws and the laws 
of Europe, in the literature of our times, 
and in that of antiquity, all knowledge 
seemed subject to his use. 

An orator of the first order, clear, copious, fervid, alike 
powerful to kindle the imagination, touch the affec¬ 
tions, and sway the reason and will. Simple in 
his tastes, unassuming in his manners, frank, 
generous, kind-hearted, and honorable, 
his private life was beautiful, as his 
public course was brilliant. 

Anxious to perpetuate the name and examples of such a 
man, alike illustrious by his genius, his virtues, and 
his fate; consecrated to their affections by his 
sacrifices, his perils, and the deeper calamities 
of his kindred, in a just and holy cause; 
his sympathizing countrymen erect¬ 
ed this monument and cenotaph. 

Born at Cork, 24th April, 1764. He died in this city, 
14th November, 18^7. 

« 

It is of sufficient interest to deserve record 
here, that General Washington, during his 
residence in New York, was a constant at¬ 
tendant upon the services, and a communicant 
in St. Paul’s chapel. That great and good 
man was nowhere more highly appreciated 
than by the citizens of New York, and no¬ 
where did his death cause more sincere and 
deep lamentations. His funeral obsequies 
were performed in St. Paul’s, with imposing 
solemnity. 

This church has stood eighty years, a proud 
monument of the taste of our ancestors; and 
it is still one of the richest architectural or¬ 
naments of this city, so much distinguished 
for the costly elegance of its churches, and 
the magnificence and beauty of its other pub¬ 
lic edifices. 


LECTORES ON ASTRONOMY.-P. 6. 

BY PROFESSOR O. M. JIITCHELL. 

In the examination which I have thus far 
made, I have confined myself exclusively to 
our own solar system. I have announced the 
great laws by which it is governed ; I have 
attempted to explain the manner in which 
these laws operate upon the various bodies 
belonging to it, and to show you how worlds 
are moving through space obedient to those 
laws and yet subjected to the influence of each 
other. But we are to leave this system, 
grand as it is, and traverse through regions 
and over distances which we have not up to 

.— 4 - : - - ■ — 











316 LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 


the present moment dared to conceive. I 
know how difficult is the subject which I am 
about to approach, and I approach it with em¬ 
barrassment. I know how difficult it is to 
comprehend these immense distances—these 
vast periods, and these mighty and innumera¬ 
ble objects, in such a manner as may be 
presented intelligibly to the mind. Still we 
shall venture upon the attempt. 

If it were possible to transfer you to the 
outermost limits of our solar system, and 
there, resting upon the body of the planet 
Neptune, we could look backward over the 
space we have traversed, w r e should find the 
sun, which to us is so brilliant and so magnifi¬ 
cent, already diminished so as not to appear 
larger than does the planet Venus now appear 
to us on the earth. But think not that this 
diminution in apparent size will diminish in 
like proportion the light which the sun throws 
out; for if there be inhabitants there, they 
will receive more light from this diminished 
sun than could be thrown out by a hundred 
of our full moons; so it is still daylight to 
them. 

But if objects are diminished by accomplish¬ 
ing this journey through space 3,000,000,000 
of miles, what do we see when we attempt 
to cross that mighty gulf which still separates 
us from the nearest fixed stars ? It is across 
this almost illimitable space that I wish to 
carry you. The unit of measure with which 
we have gone through the examination of our 
system, has been the distance of the earth 
from the sun—the radius of the earth’s orbit. 
In making our measurements, we must adopt 
a different unit, for this is too small; and we 
propose to take as one unit of measure the 
distance to the nearest fixed stars. With 
that unit, if we can attain to the knowledge 
of its value, we shall proceed to measure the 
universe by w’hich we are surrounded. 

First, then, let us attempt to explain what 
is meant by parallax; for this term I shall 
employ frequently in the course of my remarks. 
The parallax of any body is the apparent 
change in.the place of that body, occasioned 
by a real change in the position of the spec¬ 
tator. If I change my position in this room, 
occupying that of yonder individual, I find 
every other person apparently to have changed 
his place; this is a parallactic change. As 
you have, while sitting in a railroad-car pass¬ 
ing through the borders of a forest, fastened 
your eye upon an individual tree, and have 
seen the others apparently whirl rapidly 
around it, so is this apparent change in the 
position of the heavenly bodies. Now the 
question is this: Is it possible to determine 
any change in the place of the fixed stars, 
occasioned by a change of the place whence 
they are seen ? If this can be done, measur- 

_ 

--- 


ed, appreciated, and determined, then, know¬ 
ing the distance which separates the two 
points of observation and the amount of change 
occasioned by the change of place of the spec¬ 
tator, we find, without difficulty, the distance 
of the object. When the followers of Coper¬ 
nicus announced that the earth revolved about 
the sun in a mighty orbit 200,000,000 miles 
in diameter; moreover, that the axis of the 
earth upon which it revolves once in twenty- 
four hours was ever parallel to itself; and still 
further, that this axis prolonged to meet the 
celestial sphere, was the north pole of the 
heavens, the objector at once said, “It is im¬ 
possible ; because, if the earth’s axis, being 
produced to meet the heavens, touches it in a 
particular point, this point carried parallel to 
itself around a mighty orbit of 200,000,000 
miles diameter, will cut in the heavens a 
figure having also the same diameter; and 
certainly this circle described in the heavens 
will be visible to the eye.” But it is not visi¬ 
ble to the eye. If the whole diameter of 
200,000,000 miles w'ere filled by a globe as 
brilliant as our sun, at the distance of the 
fixed stars it would shrink absolutely into a 
point which no micrometer ever made by man 
could measure. Here there was a sort of 
indicative knowledge with regard to the dis¬ 
tance of the fixed stars. It must be so great 
that the whole earth’s orbit, viewed from 
them, would shrink into an invisible point. 

So soon as telescopes were perfected and 
the division of the circle obtained in the most 
accurate manner possible, by means of which 
the most delicate observations could be made, 
the human mind again returned to this grand 
problem and attempted to pass these hitherto 
seemingly impassable limits to measure the 
distance of the fixed stars. And now let me 
attempt to explain one of the methods adopted 
to accomplish this grand object. 

Suppose it were possible to erect in the 
^centre of this room a rocky pier, going down 
through the base upon the solid rock itself, so 
as to be perfectly immovable. Now then 
upon this rocky pier let me adjust a telescope 
of the highest possible capacity, and let the 
axis of that instrument be erected so as to have 
a direction exactly vertical. Having accom¬ 
plished this, let me screw it to this rock, so 
that it shall never move, but be for ever per¬ 
manent. Now to determine the exact axis 
of this telescope and to make it appreciable, 
let me fix in the focus two most delicate lines 
of spider’s web, which are so very fine that 
they may be regarded almost as invisible 
mathematical lines. Let them intersect each 
other in the axis of the telescope and their 
point of intersection upon looking upward, 
will give a precisely vertical direction. Now 
I have a piece of machinery prepared to make 









LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 


my examination of a few of the fixed stars, to 
determine whether there be any change from 
the fact that the earth is sweeping round in 
its orbit. Place the eye to this tube, and 
watch till some particular star, that you may 
have selected and which lies exactly in a 
vertical direction, passing through the zenith 
shall reach precisely the central point of the 
telescope, so that the line of vision, like a 
prolonged axis, pierces the star exactly. Now 
we record the observation which is made at a 
particular hour, and when the earth shall have 
rolled round its axis and brought it to the same 
point we observe it again, and so through the 
whole year. Now then if there be no change, 
that star will ever pass at the same moment 
exactly through the same point across the 
axis ot the telescope. But suppose it should 
deviate a little from the point of intersection, 
and at the end of the year it shall have de¬ 
scribed a minute orbit, the centre of which is 
the central point where the axis of the tele¬ 
scope pierces the heavens : the magnitude of 
this little orbit, accurately determined, is the 
amount of apparent change occasioned by the 
revolution of the earth in its orbit, and this 
would be the parallactic motion of the star. 

This method was adopted by one of the 
distinguished astronomers who attempted the 
resolution of the problem of the distance of 
the fixed stars. Pie did not succeed : it defied 
his ingenuity; still, he was rewarded in his 
efforts, if not by the attainment of the object 
to be accomplished, at least by others equally 
important. He found the star upon which 
he fixed his eye moving, not as he supposed 
it must move, in parallactic change, but taking 
a different course. For a long time the cause 
seemed to be wrapped in impenetrable mys¬ 
tery; but he finally found it to be due to the 
fact that the earth was moving with a certain 
amount of velocity, and light also was coming 
with a certain velocity, and the two forces 
combined gave to that star an apparent motion 
which, when the cause was known, was per¬ 
fectly explicable. He discovered in this way 
the aberration of light , and also a certain 
other change, shown by the fact that the 
earth’s axis is not precisely parallel to itself, 
but owing to the influence which the sun and 
moon exert upon the protuberent matter around 
the equator, it is made to vibrate, as it were, 
through a very minute arc in the heavens. 
This is called nutation: and these two great 
discoveries were made in the effort to resolve 
the problem measuring the distance of the 
fixed stars. 

I desire to trace up the history of this ex¬ 
amination, to show how science has progress¬ 
ed, and how art has been gaining one victory 
after another, even when it seemed to be im¬ 
possible to make the slightest progress. I 


317 


pass rapidly down to the second great effort 
made to determine the parallax of the stars. 

Galileo had even projected this plan, but 
never found himself in possession of instru¬ 
ments requisite to make the examination. 
The plan is simple and will be easily under¬ 
stood by all who hear me. In examining the 
heavens, we find among the fixed stars certain 
ones that appear single to the common eye, 
but when examined with a powerful instru¬ 
ment they are found to be composed of two, 
three, four, and sometimes as many as six, 
clustered together so closely that to the naked 
eye they appear as a naked object. Now, 
after Herschel commenced his review of the 
heavens, he found these clustered stars scat¬ 
tered profusely, and the idea occurred to him 
that the apparent near proximity of them was 
occasioned by the fact that one was sunk in 
space far deeper than the other, and the visual 
ray passed near or exactly through the least 
distant one. In case this hypothesis might be 
received as true, these double stars, in which 
one of the objects was double the size, and in 
this sense appearing to be half the distance 
of the other, would furnish a most admirable 
means of determining whether any parallactic 
change took place in consequence of the revo¬ 
lution of the earth. Suppose I am so situated 
as to occult any object in this room by one of 
the columns before me: by throwing my head 
slightly to the right the object hidden will ap¬ 
pear to come out on that side; or, by throw¬ 
ing my head to the left the same object will 
appear to come out of the other side. Just so 
in these minute double stars. If the observer 
start from one extremity of the earth’s annual 
orbit, and find this minute star on the right- 
hand side of the larger one—if he come round 
and continue his observation till he reaches 
one quarter of the whole circumference, when 
he finds it is hidden behind the larger star— 
if he reach the other extremity of the circuit, 
and find how the minute star is coming out on 
the opposite side—if, moreover, this change 
occur every time the earth makes its annual 
revolution—it will demonstrate most conclu¬ 
sively that these changes are parallactic, and 
occasioned by the fact that the observer is 
sweeping around in the earth’s orbit, and 
viewing the objects from different positions. 

Such is the nature of the investigation un¬ 
dertaken by Herschel, and there seemed to be 
every reason to believe he would be success¬ 
ful. But did he succeed? No. He found 
that these stars were moving; and here again 
were his efforts rewarded by one of the most 
brilliant discoveries ever made. He found in 
these closely-united objects that there was a 
motion, but not of the kind he anticipated; 
he found that the one was moving about the 
other, and on a better view, that they were 







318 LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 


both revolving about the common centre of 
gravity. Is it possible that these distant orbs 
were energized by the same kind of influence 
which operates on the earth’s surface, and 
that this law of gravitation extending over this 
immeasurable gulf, seized these suns and held 
them obedient to its control, causing them to 
revolve about each other ? 

The announcement that these motions were 
going on, filled the astronomical world with 
astonishment. It seemed that a new field was 
suddenly disclosed which promised to be inter¬ 
minable. If these stars, so profusely scatter¬ 
ed and so closely united, were really double 
suns, then had astronomy only begun its ca¬ 
reer. If to find the periods and measure the 
orbits of the planets had occupied the attention 
of the human race up to the present time, how 
much time would be necessary to measure the 
periods and determine the orbits of these 
mighty suns, sunk so deeply in space? But 
the effort has been made and it is progressing. 
A solitary object, one of a beautiful system, 
was taking up and measures made year after 
year, till finally a sufficient amount of data 
are obtained to commence the computation of 
the elements of the orbit. But what law shall 
be adopted ? The law of gravitation is ap¬ 
plied, and, wonderful to relate, these far dis¬ 
tant suns are subjected to the same law that 
carries our earth about our sun. 

And now such is the knowledge attained, 
with reference to these various systems, that 
we are able to tell their very position and 
periods, as we do with regard to the planets 
belonging to our own system. But up to this 
time, recollect, we knew nothing from the in¬ 
vestigation with regard to the distance of these 
objects. To this wonderful discovery I shall 
again refer ; but for the present permit me to 
pursue the history with reference to the de¬ 
termining of the parallax of the fixed stars. 

When it was known that this method could 
not be successfully adopted, it seemed that the 
last hope was gone, and there could be no 
other plain more likely to end in success. 
But the skill of the artist had not yet been 
exhausted. In all preceding instruments it 
seemed there was difficulty, owing to the fact 
that the micrometer measured with accuracy 
small distances, but failed in larger ones. 

Finally, of late, an instrument was invented 
by Frauenhofer, which measured with equal 
precision both great and small distances. It 
was called the heliometer. This new mag¬ 
nificent instrument was placed in the hands 
of a distinguished astronomer, one of the most 
illustrious men that ever graced the earth, and 
one better adapted to its use as well as to the 
critical examination of the great problem, than 
any man then living. He was urged by the 
great man with whom he was associated, to 


undertake this problem by the use of the 
heliometer, hoping this way to obtain a series 
of observations that might render it sticcessful. 
A few years since he commenced his obser¬ 
vations. But the query arose : was there 
among the myriads of stars, some one object 
that would be more likely than all others to 
yield to his investigation? How could a 
choice be made ? What process could guide 
him ? Let me tell you. 

By comparing the places of fixed stars de¬ 
termined by ancient astronomers, with those 
determined recently, it is found that those ob¬ 
jects which are called fixed, are not really so, but 
are changing their places by slow and almost 
imperceptible degrees, so that at the end of 
two thousand years there is a manifest paral¬ 
lax among them. In later times, after the ob¬ 
servations of other astronomers were com¬ 
pared, it became manifest that there was 
scarcely a solitary star in the heavens abso¬ 
lutely fixed in position. But if this were 
true, inasmuch as the sun was one of the fixed 
stars, is it not possible that it too is sweeping 
through space? This was a wonderful idea, 
truly. Now this apparent change among the 
fixed stars might possibly be accounted for 
upon the hypothesis that the sun swept through 
space, carrying the earth and all the planets 
with it, and thus caused these objects to change 
their apparent places among each other. If 
this hypothesis were adopted, those objects 
which were moving most rapidly would be 
among those nearest us, and most likely to 
yield results. 

Again, he choose to select a double star, be¬ 
cause il he could find a set which vvas united 
in a particular way, he would be able to meas¬ 
ure with more accuracy the change that took 
place in the centre of the line that united the 
stars, than in any other way. He selected 
from the constellation of the Swan, double star 
number sixty-one, and commenced his meas¬ 
ures upon the position of the centre of the line 
joining the two. He referred the central 
point to the intersection of this line with an¬ 
other perpendicular to it. Here he had to 
fix a point, to which with the utmost possible 
precision he found it practicable to refer that 
point, to ascertain whether any change was 
going, which should be due to the motion of 
the earth in its orbit. A year rolls round of 
unintermitted observation of the most accurate 
kind. He forms his series of places, notes 
every object, and finds to his infinite delight 
there is yet a certain amount outstanding, 
which upon examination depends upon the 
position occupied in moving around the earth’s 
orbit. He does not venture to announce the 
discovery; he waits till he has repeated these 
experiments through the following year, and 
to his inexpressible satisfaction he finds the 







LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 319 

same series occurring precisely in the same 
order as before. Night after night, and month 
after month, he watches this point, and again 
compares the computation of the place and 
finds the same changes precisely as in the 
preceding year. The conclusion could no 
longer be resisted : the mighty gulf had been 
passed, the distance of that object is known 
and its parallax is determined. 

And now how shall I tell you the distance? 
If I speak of millions of miles it only confuses 
the mind. Let me use a different unit of 
measure. I have already told you that light 
flies with a velocity of twelve millions of 
miles in a minute. Now, then, in order to 
reach us from this star in the constellation of the 
Swan, which we suppose to be the one nearest, 
it must in its flight take ten long 3 r ears to 

i reach this planet. And this is the nearest of all 
the fixed stars by which we are surrounded. 

Here then is our unit of measure; and if I 
have succeeded in carrying you to this point, 
our course onward is easy; for the moment 
we know the distance of one of the fixed stars, 
we feel confident that we can attain to others, 
and so onward and onward. Indeed, this has 
been literally the case ; since I reached your 
city I have received iutelligence from Struve, 
that he has determined the parallax of seven 
new stars. Although we find differences in 
these distances, we have reason to believe the 
average distance can not be less than that of 
number sixty-one in the Swan. 

So soon, then, as we have ascertained the 
sphere which is described in order to reach 
the nearest of these bodies, the question arises: 
Are the stars scattered equally through all 
space ? Is there any aggregation of those 
united by masses ? Is there any law which 
governs these exceedingly distant bodies, so 
as to make clusters in particular quarters or 
regions of space ? If we look out upon the 
sky, the eye is at once arrested by a beautiful 
belt of light that sweeps over the whole heav¬ 
ens, called the Milky Way. This, on exam¬ 
ination, we find to be studded with millions 
of objects extending entirely around, forming 
a mighty zone of congregated stars which takes 
this peculiar figure. Let us attempt to an¬ 
alyze this figure and see whether it be possi¬ 
ble to reach the uttermost limits, and know 
precisely the point by which it is circum¬ 
scribed. To accomplish this we must make 
use of what is called the space-penetrating 
power. All I have to say on this point, will 
depend upon the manner in which I shall be 
able to tell you the meaning of that term; for 
when we have measured the distance of the 
fixed stars it seems impossible to go beyond 
that distance accurately: yet it is done ap¬ 
proximately by this space-penetrating power 
of the telescope. 

A .- 

If the pupil of the human eye could be ex¬ 
panded to twice its present dimensions, it would 
receive light sufficient to enable it to penetrate 
twice as deep into space. It is found that it 
can now see a star of the sixth magnitude. 
But this does not give an exact idea of the 
space-penetrating power of the eye, because 
the distances are not in the exact ratio to the 
amount of light. A star of the sixth magni¬ 
tude is twelve times more distant than one of 
the first. The human eye is capable of pen¬ 
etrating into space twelve times as deep as 
the line that joins it to the nearest fixed star. 

If we could increase the diameter of the pupil 
and make it twice as large, it would see twenty- 
four times as far. Now if we aid the eye by 
the telescope (it may be approximately done) 
how shall we determine the relative approx¬ 
imative power ? I answer: By the diameter 
of the pupil, or the object-glass, of the instru¬ 
ment, we can arrive at a very accurate meas¬ 
urement, with regard to that matter. Allow 
me here to make a very familiar illustration. 
Suppose upon a level plane, indefinitely ex¬ 
tended, it would be possible to erect posts a 
mile apart. On each of these posts I will 
place a board which contains a sentence in a 
given-sized letter. Now the first one is just 
visible to the eye so that it can be read at the 
distance of one mile, but to read the next one 
is impossible. I, however, provide myself 
with some assistance. I take a telescope and 
find that with it I can just read the sentence 
written on the second post. I take one with 
a larger object-glass and read the third: anoth¬ 
er larger still, and read the fourth. Thus I 
will always know the space-penetrating pow¬ 
er of the instrument with which I read any 
one of the distances; and here is the principle 
—it is in this way we are able to penetrate 
from one to another depth, and to know what 
is the radius of the mighty sphere of which 
we are making an examination. 

The first question is: Whether it be possi¬ 
ble to penetrate through the depths of the 
Milky Way ? Herschel attempted this again 
and again. He takes a spot just visible to the 
naked eye, and with a low magnifying-power 
begins his examination. He finds this spot 
showing hundreds of stars, and behind them 
appears to be a milky whiteness which indi¬ 
cates other stars more remote. He takes a 
telescope of larger power and this causes the 
spot to blaze with more stars; yet still there 
is a milky haze indicating that lie has not yet 
penetrated the utmost depths. He takes an¬ 
other still more powerful instrument, and yet 
he does not attain the outermost limits, for still 
there is a haziness beyond. Finally he places 
his forty-feet reflector in the direction, and 
then finds the whole to glow with beautiful 
objects like diamond points upon the deep, 








320 LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 


clear vault of heaven, without a stain beyond. 
Now he knows he has penetrated to the out¬ 
side, and he knows how much power was re¬ 
quired to take him there, for he has gone on¬ 
ward step by step till the last haze is removed. 
I have had occasion to go through the very 
same examination, and I can give not the 
slightest idea of the feelings produced, when 
upon opening the full power of the telescope, 
I looked entirely beyond the limits of the 
Milky Way and saw these orbs resting upon 
the deep unstained blue of Heaven. 

Well, now, what is the depth of these 
strata? We find it impossible to gauge it; 
we throw out the sounding-line, as Herschel 
calls it, in every possible direction. He has 
done it, and the prominent part of this partic¬ 
ular spot extends to such a depth that there 
must be a series of five hundred stars, one 
behind the other, and each point is remote 
from the other as is the nearest fixed star from 
us. Such is the depth of these objects. Now 
we are able to measure its figure and tell its 
dimensions. This has been done. I will not 
delay the audience by going through any ex¬ 
planations of the manner in which it was ac¬ 
complished. 

Having determined the figure of the Milky 
Way, the next point is this: When we stand 
out upon the outer circumference of this 
mighty circle, what is beyond ? Is it possible 
there is anything beyond ; or have we reach¬ 
ed the ultimate limit ? I answer, we have 
not reached it. When we look out upon the 
heavens, we find not only hundreds, but thou¬ 
sands, and, with the aid of the telescope, tens 
of thousands of islands, all as magnificent as 
this mighty cluster with which we are united, 
whose suns number hundreds of millions. 
Now, can we tell anything about their dis¬ 
tance ? Can we locate them in strata, as we 
locate the stars belonging to our own system? 
I answer yes: it is easy to estimate, with a 
given-sized aperture to any instrument, how 
far it will discern a star of the first maonitude. 

o 

In case it be removed till it is just visible 
through the great fifty-four feet telescope of 
Lord Rosse, it is ascertained that the distance 
is so great that its light will take sixty thou¬ 
sand years to wing its flight to us. Remem¬ 
ber, this is one solitary object—a single star. 
Suppose it were possible to gather up the 
constellation of Hercules, which is another 
universe somewhat like our own, and so near 
to us that by the aid of the ordinary instru¬ 
ments it is found to be composed of brilliant 
stars; let us move it backward and back¬ 
ward till the mighty eye of Lord Rosse’s 
great telescope just loses sight of it. Where 
think you it will be ? I am almost afraid to 
tell you the distance; it actually overwhelms 
the mind; it gives such an idea of infinity that 


it seems impossible to comprehend it. Thirty 
millions of years will it require for the light to 
wing its flight before it can reach this earth. 

Such are the distances we are permitted to 
penetrate into space. I have had the oppor¬ 
tunity of examining a large number of these 
magnificent objects with one of the finest in¬ 
struments ever mounted. We find amon^ 

O 

them every possible variety of form. We 
find these clusters sometimes in a globular 
figure, occasionally forming a ring of light, as 
the Milky Way, and, in short, in every pos¬ 
sible fantastic shape imaginable; and still they 
are all governed by one law—all subject to 
the influence of gravitation, and their stability 
is perfect. 

I have spoken of the distance of the stars. 
I intend now to carry you along with me and 
give you an idea of the periods of motion 
among these mighty objects. We know that 
the stars which compose our own system are 
not fixed, but are moving, and we have reason 
to believe that these remote objects are en¬ 
ergized by the same principle. We find, 
moreover, these mighty clusters seem to be 
scattered through space not indifferently, but 
by a certain law. It is strange that a certain 
stream of them happens to occupy a position 
nearly perpendicular to the direction of the 
Milky Way itself. Now when we return 
home again and commence an examination of 
our own system, we have to start with more 
minute, smaller periods. We find among 
double stars some moving swiftly. In Her¬ 
cules there is one whose motion is so per¬ 
ceptible that you can observe the change after 
a few nights. It performs its revolution in 
thirty-seven years only. There is another in 
the northern crown, which completes its rev¬ 
olution in forty-two years. Then we are 
carried by analogy still further, to the con¬ 
stellation of the Lion, where there is a quad¬ 
ruple set, formed by two sets of double stars: 
one of these revolves in one thousand and the 
other in two thousand years; and, inasmuch 
as the whole four are sweeping, by their 
proper motion, together through space in rela¬ 
tive company, there is every reason to believe 
they constitute one system : and in case that 
be true, the motion of one of the double sets 
about the other can not be less than one mill¬ 
ion years. Thus immense are their periods ; 
but what is this compared with the vast cir¬ 
cuit of our sun itself. 

In the course of lectures previously delivered 
in this city, I attempted to show to those who 
heard me how it was that Maedler had re¬ 
cently determined the central point in our 
great stratum, or the source about which all 
the stars, including our sun itself, are perform¬ 
ing their mighty revolution. Now, although 
we can not rely implicitly upon all his deduc- 







PEACE SOCIETIES. 


321 


tions, yet that he has made a close approxi¬ 
mation is certain; and in case we adopt his 
theory it requires our sun no less than one 
hundred and seventeen millions of years to 
complete its orbit about this grand* centre. 
If then we desire to have the measure of 
eternity, it seems that it is possible almost to 
accomplish it even here in time. For let us 
suppose the hundred millions of suns to be 
united under the action of that Almighty pow¬ 
er that started them in their orbits. They 
sweep on, and one hundred and seventeen 
millions of years roll round before the sun ac¬ 
complishes his mighty journey. To bring 
them all back again to the same precise posi¬ 
tion, if the ratio is anything like what we sup¬ 
pose it to be, taking the single revolution of 
our own sun and solar system as our first unit, 
then indeed will we run round literally to in¬ 
finity and throughout eternity itself, before we 
shall have accomplished one great revolution 
—one mighty year. 

If there be anything, then, that can lead us 
upward to the contemplation of the attributes 
of Him who sustains all things by the might 
of his power, it is the understanding of his 
works above. If you would know his glory, 
examine the infinite number of mighty suns 
that blaze above us. Multiply the hundred 
millions with which we are associated, by the 
thousands of other systems beyond us, and 
compute the result. 13 ut again: If you would 
have an idea of the eternity past, call to mind 
the thought that all has existed so long. The 
objects which He has created we know to 
have existed millions of years ago; for we 
know with certainty that they must have 
been created thus early, else their light could 
not have traversed the mighty distance which 
separates us from them. And if we would 
have an idea of his omnipotence, let us re¬ 
member that these mighty lights are but the 
expression of his will. Take our own little 
earth, which is now in comparison with the 
universe but a grain of sand : if all the in¬ 
habitants that ever moved on its surface could 
unite the sum of their physical strength into 
one arm, and that arm should attempt to project 
this earth, it could not move it through a sin¬ 
gle foot in a thousand years. Yet God has 
moved it sixty-eight thousand miles since I 
have been speaking. This is nothing. Re¬ 
member this, that some almighty power is 
swinging, not only this earth, but all the plan¬ 
ets of our system at the extremity of a radius 
of one hundred millions of millions of miles. 
And not only these, but the hundred millions 
of suns which cluster in our own system are 
performing their mighty revolutions. If there 
be not a conviction of Omnipotence here, then 
it is impossible for the human mind to com¬ 
prehend it. 


And we may go one step further. If we 
would have any idea of the omniscience of 
God, let us for a moment reflect that there is 
not a solitary particle of matter throughout 
the universe, that is not operating to disturb 
the movements of every other particle. The 
astronomer has shown the most transcendent 
genius, in computing the perturbation of a 
very few little bodies belonging to his own 
system. But God has computed the pertur¬ 
bation of every body in the entire universe, 
and he knows precisely how much influence 
is exerted by every one upon the other 
throughout the ceaseless ages of eternity. Pie 
knows full well that this mighty system, 
which he has calculated with infinite wisdom . 
and skill, is so arranged that it shall be per¬ 
petual—that it shall never end. 


PEACE SOCIETIES. 

Civilized nations are evidently for a season 
tired of war. The universality of the change 
is scarce less remarkable than its suddenness. 
Half a century ago the trumpet’s martial peal 
resounded in all quarters of the globe. Citi¬ 
zens in those days, rejoicing in the name of 
volunteers, girded themselves for battle with 
an alacrity which evinced anything rather 
than a dislike to the terrific pastime. To talk 
of patriotism is all very well—of being com¬ 
pelled to don harness in self-defence—of being 
summoned to the battle-field by the pleading 
cries of sisters, children, and wives. The 
truth is, we required very little prompting; 
the spirit of the age was decidedly warlike, 
and in the language of Mercutio, a la stoccatta , 
carried it away. How then has it come about, 
that within so short a period, a reaction so 
decidedly beneficial has taken place almost 
simultaneously in every quarter of the globe 
—that, in reference to this momentous subject, 
public feeling should have undergone a change 
at once so complete, desirable, and sudden ? 
To say that it has been effected by the hu¬ 
manizing influence of Christianity alone would 
be going too far. Christianity has done much 
—the diffusion of information and the spread 
of knowledge more strictly secular in its na¬ 
ture may have done something—the expe¬ 
rience of the national benefit consequent upon 
the commercial intercourse of countries at 
peace may have contributed its share—but 
the universality of the moral revolution must, 
we are afraid, be traced to a much more ob¬ 
vious, though far less gratifying cause than 
any other we could specify. The fact is, 
mankind in general have become tired of war, 
just for the same reason that we of these 


21 










PEACE SOCIETIES. 


322 


islands have got sick of poetry. Byron ef¬ 
fected the latter change just as Napoleon ac¬ 
complished the other. In both cases the thing 
was overdriven, and satiation has succeeded 
in begetting disgust. 

Tired of war, men are now cultivating the 
sciences, studying politics, reading books and 
periodicals in which useful information and 
harmless amusement are delightfully com¬ 
bined. This, however, will not of itself pre¬ 
vent them eventually from relapsing anew 
into the military mania of other days; the 
old spirit will come back upon the world un¬ 
less something much more effective is accom¬ 
plished than that which the mere politician, 
philosopher, or sage, can at any time achieve. 
But it is obvious that the same cause which 
at present facilitates the spread of merely 
secular, facilitates also the diffusion of that 
more important learning by means of which, 
men, by becoming wise for eternity, become 
wise also for time. What then is the imme¬ 
diate duty of all who wish well to the best 
interests of the human race ? Is it to waste 
time in merely guessing at the causes which 
have contributed to the change so often already 
specified ? This would not be wise; it would 
be at least a very questionable expenditure 
of talents and of time. True philosophy 
teaches us, previous to an investigation of their 
origin, to take advantage of circumstances as 
they are. Now, one thing is certain, mankind 
have recently become fervent in their praise 
of peace; they are inclined to listen with at¬ 
tentive patience to any one who will take the 
trouble of discoursing to them on the subject; 
and the man who, possessing the ability, does 
not avail himself of the opportunity which 
this state of things affords to advance the in¬ 
terests of humanity by a judicious advocacy 
of the “cause of peace,” proves himself, if a 
Christian at all, to be less wise in his genera¬ 
tion than thousands whose pretensions are far 
less high. After these observations it is 
scarcely necessary to announce the decided 
pleasure with which we have recently wit¬ 
nessed the advantage which, in many parts 
of the world, genuine philanthropists and 
Christian patriots are taking of the improved 
tone of public sentiment and feeling in refer¬ 
ence to the evils of war and the advantages 
of peace, to inculcate doctrines and deliver 
maxims calculated, if sincerely imbibed and 
followed up, to render permanent a change 
which, but for this, will assuredly prove 
equally fallacious and temporary. 

Peace societies, our readers are aware, 
have been in existence for upward of thirty 
years. They started into organized being, both 
here and in Great Britain (and what is very 
singular, almost simultaneously), a little after 
the battle of Waterloo. They have since 


arisen in some quarters on the continent. 
Without attracting much notice, the members 
of these institutions prosecuted their philan¬ 
thropic purpose for years; and they now have 
their reward ; a tide of public approbation fa¬ 
vorable to the grand object they are striving 
to promote, is fast setting in. To the United 
States of America is due the honor of the 
actual formation of the first society, and to 
the city of New York must be awarded the 
priority in this noble cause. A peace society 
was formed here in the year 1815, as also in 
Massachusetts and Ohio. The London so¬ 
ciety for the promotion of permanent and uni¬ 
versal peace, was formally established about 
midsummer, 1816, exactly one year after the 
awful events at Waterloo. It had, however, 
been projected, and preliminary meetings had 
been held so early as 1814; but the con¬ 
tinuance of the war, and the intoxication of 
national glory, appear to have impeded its 
public establishment. The meeting at which 
the formation of the London society was re¬ 
solved on, w r as held at the house of William 
Allen, the eminent philanthropist and philoso¬ 
pher, lately deceased, in Plough Court, in the 
city of London. It is not uninteresting to ob¬ 
serve the names of the twelve men who were 
then first appointed as the committee of the 
infant society. The committee consisted of 
the venerable and venerated Thomas Clark¬ 
son, his brother John Clarkson, William 
Allen, William Crawford, Charles Stokes 
Dudley, Thomas Harper, minister, Robert 
Marsden, Joseph Tregellis Price, Evan Rees, 
John Scott, Frederick Smith, and Thomas 
Sturge. Since the formation of this society 
in the United Kingdom, numerous associations 
have been formed for the same object. The 
number of tracts and publications printed by 
the society to the present time, is about two 
millions; and these tracts have been circulated 
in various languages, and in all the quarters 
of the globe. But by far the most important 
labor of the society, was the summoning of a 
convention of its friends from various parts of 
the world, in London, in 1843. The object 
of this convention was to deliberate upon the 
best means of showing to the world the evils 
of war, and of promoting peace. The num¬ 
ber of delegates appointed was three hundred 
and twenty-four, of whom two hundred and 
ninety-two were from Great Britain and Ire¬ 
land, twenty-six from the United States of 
America, and six from the continent of Eu¬ 
rope. The convention lasted three days, and 
was attended by about one hundred and fifty 
of the delegates, besides a number of visiters, 
both ladies and gentlemen. The result of this 
convention has been to give an impetus to the 
cause greater than it ever before received. 
The friends of peace have been stimulated, 








PEACE SOCIETIES. 


and fresh energy is infused into tlieir opera¬ 
tions. The number of publications and peri¬ 
odicals has been extended; lectures have 
greatly increased ; and new auxiliaries are 
constantly making their appearance. 

While, however, much good may have re¬ 
sulted from the agency employed by such in¬ 
stitutions to circulate tracts and periodicals 
favorable to their views, we can not help 
thinking that one of the chief blessings society 
gains from them is the amount of influence 
exercised over the popular mind by the speech¬ 
es delivered on occasion of their annual and 
other meetings. Tracts and magazines are 
all very well; we also decidedly approve of 
the advice given from so many quarters in 
reference to international addresses; but for 
producing a general sensation, there is nothing 
so effective as a good speech. Even the con¬ 
vention referred to, but for the eloquence of 
j many of its public speakers, would have 
scarce achieved the triumphs it has subse¬ 
quently gained. These speeches are not mere 
declamatory harangues, holding up war to de¬ 
testation by a mere exhibition of its horrors; 
nor do they advocate peace merely from the 
temporary blessing it is inculcated to impart. 
Their tendency is to exhibit how utterly at 
variance with the principles of the gospel of 
Christ are the exercise or cultivation of those 
feelings in which war originates. Now this 
is what all along we would be at. We may 
no doubt advance many reasons against war 
and in favor of peace ; but why should believ¬ 
ers in a revelation from God not just begin at 
the beginning ? Why not speak out with 
fearlessness and fidelity ? Why not say that 
men are by nature lovers of war—that though, 
from the influence of the same causes that 
render men for a time tired of anything, the 
civilized human family are at present disposed 
to vote war a nuisance, they, notwithstanding, 
when the mood comes round, will be as much 
inclined for it as ever ? If we be averse to war 
because we are better Christians than our 
forefathers, it is good; but if the feeling ori¬ 
ginate merely in being tired for a time of the 
game, it will not be lasting. Now, however, 
is the time for the Christian philanthropist to 
bestir himself. Christianity alone can render 
permanent a change which originated in a 
mere satiation of war as a trade. Let Chris¬ 
tian ministers, therefore, bring the subject 
prominently before the minds of the hearers, 
giving distinct utterance to the truth, that, as 
the gospel of Christ recommends peace, so 
notning but the same gospel can render peace 
permanent. A better moment than the pres¬ 
ent can not be supposed for the inculcation of 
such doctrines, appalled and agonized as we 
have been by the recent Mexican war. Let 
therefore as many meetings as possible be got 


323 


up for the purpose of bringing out the views 
of those who believe that mankind can only 
be kept from relapsing into their old martial 
propensities by the influence of genuine Chris¬ 
tianity ; for we can not conceal a suspicion 
that too little stress has been laid upon this 
view ol things. To judge from the language 
which many use, we might almost fancy that 
human nature is improving of itself—that men 
are becoming peaceful, just through the diffu¬ 
sion of science and literature. Leviathan, 
alas, is not to be so easily tamed ! They have 
read history to little purpose who are not 
aware that men naturally love to go to war; 
that they must have something to do—some¬ 
thing to excite them; and that the mania of war 
will never yield to the mere influence of peace 
societies unless they recognise Christianity as 
the only system that can ultimately regenerate 
mankind. This, we are glad to discover, the 
members of peace institutions are almost uni¬ 
versally doing; and this being the case, we 
must, in the use of our influence, bid them 
god-speed. What so desirable as peace— 
what so terrific as war! And yet, after all 
our experience of these, there is a principle 
in human nature which, unless checked by 
the gospel of peace, will again plunge us into 
all its horrors. There is, we again repeat, a 
danger that at present we mistake the mere 
lull of the storm for a permanent calm; that 
because men are clamorous for peace now they 
will be so always. Nothing can render us 
secure but the eradication of the principles in 
which war originates. This can be achieved 
by Christianity alone. Let it therefore be 
distinctly announced that such is the fact. 
Shilly-shallying, while it does good at no time, 
is utterly ruinous here. While the enemy 
sleeps let us endeavor to eradicate the tares. 
“ Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth, 
and good will to men!” formed the burden of 
angelic song on the night of the birth of the 
Prince of Peace. The principles he taught, 
when universally embraced, will banish war 
from the earth; but nothing else will. Sci¬ 
ence, philosophy, art, may be cultivated while 
men are under the influence of a temporary 
satiation of the game of war; but these will 
never eradicate the principle. The tendency 
to war has its origin in elements with which 
the religion of Christ only can successfully 
grapple! This, we are glad to observe, is 
now distinctly recognised in the majority of 
the speeches delivered at peace meetings. 

The Object of Education.— The aim 
of education should be to teach us rather how 
to think than what to think—rather to im¬ 
prove our minds, so as to enable us to think 
for ourselves, than to load the memory with 
the thoughts of other men. 














324 s. P. a R—WESTERN SCENERY. 


The Roman Standards, S. P. Q.. R. 


S. P. Q. R. 

The Romans bore on tlieir standards the 
letters S. P. Q. R., meaning Senatus Pop ulus 
Que Romanus. It has been adopted by 
certain religionists to express the following: 
Serva populum qucm redemisti. An Italian, 
on entering Rome, applied it, Sono poltroni 
questi Romani. The protestants of Germany 
gave it, Sublato papa quietum regnum ; the 
catholics, Salus papa quies regni. A wit, 
seeing it inscribed on the chamber wall of a 
pope, newly created, put this question to him, 
Sancte Pater , quare rides ? The jocular 
head of the church answered by turning the 
letters the contrary way, Rideo quia papa 
sum . 


WESTERN SCENERY. 

The traveller who first visits the valley of 
the west, advancing from the east to the 
Ohio river, and thence proceeding westward, 
is struck with the magnificence of the vegeta¬ 
tion which clothes the whole surface. The 
vast extent and gloomy grandeur of the forest, 
the gigantic size and venerable antiquity of 
the trees, the rankness of the weeds, the 


luxuriance and variety of the underbrush, the 
long vines that climb to the tops of the tallest 
branches, the parasites that hang in clusters 
from the boughs, the brilliancy of the foliage, 
and the exuberance of the fruit, all show a 
land teeming with vegetable life. The forest 
is seen in its majesty; the pomp and pride of 
the wilderness is here. Here is nature un¬ 
spoiled, and silence undisturbed. A few years 
ago, this impression was more striking than at 
present; for now, farms, villages, and even a 
few large towns, are scattered over this region, 
diversifying its landscapes, and breaking in 
upon the characteristic wildness of its scenery. 
Still there are wide tracts remaining in a state 
of nature, and displaying all the savage luxu¬ 
riance which first attracted the pioneer ; and 
upon a general survey, its features present at 
this day, to one accustomed only to thickly- 
peopled countries, the same freshness of beau¬ 
ty, and the immensity, through rudeness of 
outline, which we have been accustomed to 
associate with the landscape of the west. 

We know of nothing more splendid than a 
western forest. There is a grandeur in the 
immense size of the trees—a richness in the 
coloring of the foliage, superior to anything 
that is known in corresponding latitudes—a 
wildness and an unbroken stillness that attest 
the absence of man—above all there is a vast¬ 
ness, a boundless extent, an uninterrupted con- 































































































































































r 


WESTERN SCENERY. 32 5 


tinuity of shade, which prevents the attention 
from being distracted, and allows the mind to 
itself, and the imagination to realize the ac¬ 
tual presence and true character of that which 
had burst upon it like a vivid dream. But 
when the traveller forsakes the Ohio, and 
advancing westward ascends to the level of 
that great plain, which constitutes the surface 
of this region, he finds himself in an open 
champaign country—in a wilderness of mead¬ 
ows clad in grass, and destitute of trees. The 
transition is as sudden as complete. Behind 
him are the most gigantic productions of the 
forest—before him are the lowly, the verdant, 
the delicate inhabitants of the lawn; behind 
him are gloom and chill, before him are sunlight 
and graceful beauty. He has passed the 
rocky cliff, where the den of the rattlesnake 
is concealed, the marshes that sent up foetid 
steams of desolating miasma, and the cane- 
brake where the bear and the panther lurk; and 
has reached the pasture where the deer is 
feeding, and the prairie flower displays its di¬ 
versified hues. He has seen the wilderness 
in all its savage pomp and gloomy grandeur, 
arrayed in the terrors of barbarian state ; but 
now beholds it in its festal garb, reposing in 
peace, and surrounded by light gayety and 
beauty. 

This distinction is not imaginary; no one 
can pass from one part of this region to another, 
without observing the natural antithesis of 
which we are speaking; and that mind would 
be defective in its perceptions of the sublime 
and beautiful, which did not feel, as well as 
see, the effect of this singular contrast. There 
is in the appearance of one of our primitive 
forests a gloomy wildness, that throws a 
cast of solemnity over the feelings; a some¬ 
thing in the widespread solitude which sug¬ 
gests to the traveller that he is far from the 
habitations of man—alone, in the companion¬ 
ship of his own thoughts, and the presence of 
his God. But the prairie landscape awakens 
a different train of thought. Here light pre¬ 
dominates instead of shade, and a variety of 
hue instead of a wearisome exuberance and 
monotony of verdure; while the extent of the 
landscape allows the eye to roam abroad, and 
the imagination to expand, over an endless 
diversity of agreeable objects. 

The remarkable contrast is equally striking 
in the contour of the surface—in the difference 
between the broken and the level districts. 
If the traveller looks down from the western 
pinnacles of the Allegany, he beholds a re¬ 
gion beautifully diversified with hill and dale, 
and intersected with rapid streams. In west¬ 
ern Pennsylvania, Virginia, Kentucky, and ^ 
Tennessee, he finds every variety of scenic J 
beauty—the hill, the plain, the valley, the , 
rocky cliff, the secluded dell, the clear fount- I 


ain, and the rivulet dashing headlong over its 
bed of rock. The rivers have each their 
characteristic scenery. The Monongahela 
winding through a mountainous country, over¬ 
hung with precipices, and shaded by heavy 
forests, with a current sufficiently gentle to 
be easily navigable to steamboats, has its pe¬ 
culiar features, which are instantly lost when 
the traveller has passed on the bosom of the 
Ohio. The winding course and picturesque 
scenery of the Ohio, between Pittsburgh and 
Wheeling, impress the beholders as strictly 
wild and beautiful; below the latter place, 
the feature of the landscape become softened, 
the hills recede further from the river, are 
lofty, and more rounded; and again, after 
passing Louisville, these elevations are seen 
less frequently, and gradually melt away, un¬ 
til the river becomes margined by low shores, 
and one continuous line of unbroken forest. 
But if we leave the gentle current of the Ohio, 
and ascend the Kentucky or the Cumberland, 
we again find rapid streams, overhung with 
precipices, and a country abounding in the 
diversities of a wild and picturesque scenery. 
Here may be seen the rapid current foaming 
and eddying over beds of rock, and the tall 
peak towering above in solitary grandeur. 
Here the curious traveller may penetrate the 
gloom of the cavern, may clamber over preci¬ 
pices, or refresh himself from the crystal 
fountain bursting from the bosom of the rock. 
But he will find every hill clad with timber, 
every valley teeming with vegetation ; even 
the crevices of the limestone parapets giving 
sustenances to trees and bushes. 

The scenery presented on the western 
shore of the Ohio is altogether different. The 
mountain, the rock, the precipice, and limpid 
torrent, are seen no more ; and the traveller, 
as he wanders successfully over Indiana, Illi¬ 
nois, Missouri, and the vast wilderness lying 
beyond, is astonished at the immensity of the 
great plain, the regularity of its surface, and 
the richness, the verdure, the beauty, of its 
widespread meadows. 

It is, perhaps, not easy to account for the 
intense curiosity and surprise which have been 
universally excited by the existence of these 
plains ; for they have been found in various 
parts of the world. The steppes of Asia, 
the pampas of South America, and the deserts 
of Africa, are alike destitute of timber. But 
they have existed from different causes ; and 
while one has been found too arid and sterile 
to give birth to vegetation, and another snow- 
clad and inhospitable, others exist in tempe¬ 
rate climates and exhibit amazing fertility of 
soil. These facts show that there are various 
causes inimical to the growth of the trees, and 
the forest is not necessarily the spontaneous 
product of the earth, and its natural covering, 









WESTERN SCENERY. 


326 


wherever its surface is left uncultivated by I 
the hand of man. The vegetable kingdom 
embraces an infinite variety of plants, “from 
the cedar of Lebanon to the hyssop that 
groweth on the wall;” and the plan of nature, 
in which there is no miscalculation, has pro¬ 
vided that there shall be a necessary concate¬ 
nation of circumstances—a proper adaptation 
of soil, climate, moisture—of natural and 
secondary causes, to produce and to protect 
each : just as she has assigned the wilderness 
to the Indian, the rich pasture to the grazing 
herd, and the Alps to the mountain goat. 

We apprehend that the intense astonish¬ 
ment with which the American pioneers first 
beheld a prairie, and which we all feel in 
gazing over those singularly beautiful plains, 
is the result of association. The adventurers 
who preceded us, from the champaign districts 
of France, have left no record of any such sur¬ 
prise ; on the contrary, they discovered in 
these flowery meadows something that re¬ 
minded them of home; and their sprightly 
imaginations at once suggested, that nothing 
was wanting but the vineyard, the peasant’s 
cottage, and the stately chateau, to render the 
resemblance complete. But our immediate 
ancestors came from lands covered with wood, 
and in their minds the idea of a wilderness was 
indissolubly connected with that of a forest. 
They had settled in the woods upon the shores 
of the Atlantic, and there their ideas of a new 
country had been formed. As they proceeded 
to the west, they found the shadows of heavy 
foliage deepening upon their path, and the 
luxuriant forest becoming at every step more 
stately and intense, deepening the impression, 
that as they receded from civilization, the 
woodland must continue to accumulate the 
gloom of its savage and silent grandeur around 
them—until suddenly the glories of the prairie 
burst upon their enraptured gaze, with its 
widely-extended landscape, its verdure, its 
flowers, its picturesque groves and all its ex¬ 
quisite variety of mellow shade and sunny 
light. 

Had our English ancestors, on the other 
hand, first settled upon the plains of Missouri 
and Illinois, and the tide of emigration were 
now setting toward the forests of Ohio and 
Kentucky, climbing the rocky barriers of the 
Allegany ridge, and pouring itself down upon 
the wooded shores of the Atlantic, the ques¬ 
tion would not be asked how the western 
plains became denuded of timber, but by 
what miracle of Providence, a vast region had 
been clothed, with so much regularity, with 
the most splendid and gigantic productions of 
nature, and preserved through whole centuries 
from the devastations of the frost and the fire, 
the hurricane and the flood. We have all 
remarked how simple and how rapid is the 


I process of rearing the annual flower, or the 
more hardy varieties of grass, and with what 
ease a spot of ground may be covered with a 
carpet of verdure; and we know equally 
well how difficult it is to rear an orchard or a 
grove, and how numerous are the accidents 
which assail a tree. An expanse of natural 
meadow is not therefore so much an object of 
curiosity, as a continuous forest; the former 
coming rapidly to perfection, with but few 
enemies to assail it, the latter advancing 
slowly to maturity, surrounded by dangers. 
Hence there is to my mind no scene so im¬ 
posing, none which awakens sensations of 
such admiration and solemnity, as the for¬ 
est standing in its aboriginal integrity, and 
bearing the indisputable marks of antiquity 
—where we stand upon a soil composed of 
vegetable mould, which can only have been 
produced by the undisturbed accumulation of 
ages, and behold around us the healthful and 
gigantic trees, whose immense shafts have 
been increasing in size for centuries, and which 
have stood during that whole time exposed to 
the lightning, the wind, and the frost, and to 
the depredations of the insect and the brute. 

The scenery of the prairie country excites 
a different feeling. The novelty is striking, 
and never fails to cause an exclamation of sur¬ 
prise. The extent of the prospect is ex¬ 
hilarating ; the verdure and the flowers are 
beautiful; and the absence of shade, and con¬ 
sequent appearance of a profusion of light, 
produce a gayety which animates the be¬ 
holder. 

It is necessary to explain that these plains, 
although preserving a general level in respect 
to the whole country, are yet in themselves 
not flat , but exhibit a gracefully-waving sur¬ 
face, swelling and sinking with an easy slope, 
and a full rounded outline, equally avoiding 
the unmeaning horizontal surface, and the in¬ 
terruption of abrupt or angular elevations. It 
is that surface which, in the expressive lan¬ 
guage of the country, is called rolling , and 
which has been said to resemble the long 
heavy swell of the ocean, when its waves are 
subsiding to rest after the agitation of a storm. 

It is to be remarked also, that the prairie 
is almost always elevated in the centre, so 
that in advancing into it from either side, you 
see before you only the plain, with its curved 
outline marked upon the sky, and forming the 
horizon, but on reaching the highest point, 
you look around upon the whole of the vast 
scene. 

The attraction of the prairie consists in its 
extent, its carpet of verdure and flowers, its 
undulating surface, its groves, and the fringe 
of timber by which it is surrounded. Of all 
these, the latter is the most expressive feature 
—it is that which gives character to the land- 









WESTERN SCENERY. 


scape, which imparts the shape and marks the 
boundary of the plain. If the prairie be small, 
its greatest beauty consists in the vicinity of 
the surrounding margin of woodland, which 
resembles the shore of a lake, indented with 
deep vistas like bays and inlets, and throwing 
out long points, like capes and headlands; 
while occasionally these points approach so 
close on either hand, that the traveller passes 
through a narrow avenue or strait, where the 
shadows of the woodland fall upon his path, 
and then again emerges into another prairie. 
Where the plain is large, the forest outline is 
seen in the far perspective like the dim shore 
when beheld at a distance from the ocean.— 
The eye sometimes roams over the green 
meadow, without discovering a tree, a shrub, 
or any object in the immense expanse, but the 
wilderness of grass and flowers; while at an¬ 
other time, the prospect is enlivened by the 
groves which are seen interspersed like islands, 
or the solitary tree, which stands alone in the 
blooming desert. 

If it be in the spring of the year, and the 
young grass has just covered the ground with 
a carpet of delicate green, and especially if 
the sun is just rising from behind a distant 
swell of the plain, and glittering upon the 
dewdrops, no scene can be more lovely to the 
eye. The deer is seen grazing quietly upon 
the plain ; the bee is on the wing; the wolf 
with his tail dropped is sneaking away to his 
covert with the felon-tread of one who is 
conscious that he has disturbed the peace of 
nature; and the grouse feeding in flocks or in 
pairs, like the domestic fowl, cover the whole 
surface—the males strutting and erecting their 
plumage like a peacock, and uttering a long, 
loud, mournful note, something like the cooing 
of the dove, but resembling still more the 
sound produced by passing a rough finger 
boldly over the surface of a tamborine. The 
number of these birds is astonishing. The 
plain is covered with them in every direction ; 
and when they have been driven from the 
ground by a deep snow, we have seen thou¬ 
sands—or more properly tens of thousands— 
thickly clustered in the tops of the trees sur¬ 
rounding the prairie. They do not retire as 
the country becomes settled, but continue to 
lurk in the tall grass around the newly-made 
farms; and we have sometimes seen them 
mingled with the domestic fowls, at a short 
distance from the farmer’s door. They will 
eat and even thrive when confined in a coop, 
and may undoubtedly become domesticated. 

When the eye roves oft’ from the green plain 
to the groves or points of timber, these also 
are found to be at this season robed in the 
most attractive hues. The rich undergrowth 
is in full bloom. The red-bud, the dog-wood, 
the crab-apple, the wild plumb, the cherry, 


327 


the rose, are abundant in all rich lands; and 
the grape-vine, though its bloom is unseen, 
fills the air with fragrance. The variety of 
the wild fruit and flowering shrubs is so great, 
and such the profusion of the blossoms with 
which they are bowed down, that the eye is 
regaled almost to satiety. 

The gayety of the prairie, its embellish¬ 
ments, and the absence of the gloom and 
savage wildness of the forest, all contribute to 
dispel the feeling of lonesomeness, which 
usually creeps over the mind of the solitary 
traveller in the wilderness. Though he may 
not see a house nor a human being, and is 
conscious that he is far from the habitations 
of men, he can scarcely divest himself of the 
idea that he is travelling through scenes em¬ 
bellished by the hand of art. The flowers, 
so fragile, so delicate, and so ornamental, 
seem to have been tastefully disposed to adorn 
the scene. The groves and clumps of trees 
appear to have been scattered over the lawn 
to beautify the landscape, and it is not easy to 
avoid that decision of the fancy which per¬ 
suades the beholder, that such scenery has 
been created to gratify the refined taste of 
civilized man. Europeans are often reminded 
of the resemblance of this scenery to that of 
the extensive parks of noblemen which they 
have been accustomed to admire in the old 
world; the lawn, the avenue, the grove, the 
copse, which are there produced by art, are 
here prepared by nature; a splendid specimen 
of massy architecture, and the distant view 
of villages, are alone wanting to render the 
similitude complete. 

In the summer the prairie is covered with 
long coarse grass, which soon assumes a gold¬ 
en hue, and waves in the wind like a ripe 
harvest.—Those who have not a personal 
knowledge of the subject would be deceived 
by the accounts which are published of the 
heights of the grass. It is seldom so tall as 
travellers have represented, nor does it attain 
its highest growth in the richest soil. In the 
low wet prairies, where the substratum of 
clay lies near the surface, the centre or main 
stem of this grass, which bears the seed, ac¬ 
quires great thickness, and shoots up to the 
height of eight or nine feet, throwing out a 
few short coarse leaves or blades, and the 
traveller often finds it higher than his head as 
he rides through it on horseback. The plants, 
although numerous, and standing close togeth¬ 
er, appear to grow singly and unconnected, the 
whole force of the vegetative power expand- 
ing itself upward. But in the rich undulating 
prairies, the grass is finer, with less of stalk, 
and a greater profusion of leaves. The roots 
spread and interweave so as to fonn a com¬ 
pact even sod, and the blades expand into a 
I close thick sward, which is seldom more than 






32S CONNEXION BETWEEN COMMERCE AND INTELLECTUAL EMINENCE. 


eighteen inches high and often less, until late 
in the season when the seed-bearing stem 
shoots up. 

The first coat of grass is mingled with small 
flowers; the violet, the bloom of the straw¬ 
berry, and others of the most minute and deli¬ 
cate texture. As the grass increases in size 
these disappear, and others, taller and more 
gaudy, display their brilliant colors upon the 
green surface, and still later a larger and 
coarser succession rises with the rising tide 
of verdure. A fanciful writer asserts, that 
the prevalent color of the prairie-flowers is in 
the spring a bluish purple, in midsummer red, 
and in the autumn yellow. This is one of the 
notions that people get, who study nature 
by the fireside. The truth is, that the whole 
of the surface of these beautiful plains is clad 
throughout the season of verdure with every 
imaginable variety of color, “from grave to 
gay.” It is impossible to conceive a more in¬ 
finite diversity, or a richer profusion of hues, 
or to detect any predominating tint, except the 
green, which forms the beautiful ground, and 
relieves the exquisite brilliancy of all the 
others. The only changes of color observed 
at the different seasons arise from the circum¬ 
stance that in the spring the flowers are small 
and the colors delicate; as the heat becomes 
more ardent a hardier race appears, the flow¬ 
ers attain a greater size, and the hue deepens; 
and still later a succession of coarser plants 
rise above the tall grass, throwing out larger 
and gaudier flowers. As the season advances 
from spring to midsummer, the individual 
flower becomes less beautiful when closely 
inspected, but the landscape is far more varie¬ 
gated, rich, and glowing. 

In the winter, the prairies present a gloomy 
and desolate scene. The fire has passed over 
them, and consumed every vegetable sub¬ 
stance, leaving the soil bare, andl the surface 
perfectly black. That gracefully waving 
outline which was so attractive to the eye 
when clad in green, is now disrobed of all its 
ornaments; its fragrance, its notes of joy, and 
the graces of its landscape, have all vanished, 
and the bosom of the cold earth, scorched and 
discolored, is alone visible. The wind sighs 
mournfully over the black plain; but there is 
no object to be moved by its influence—not a 
tree to wave its long arms in the blast, nor a 
reed to bend its fragile stem—not a leaf nor 
even a blade of grass to tremble in the breeze. 
There is nothing to be seen but the cold dead 
earth and the bare mound, which move not— 
and the traveller with a singular sensation, 
almost of awe, feels the blast rushing over 
him, while not an object visible to the eye, is 
seen to stir. Accustomed as the mind is to 
associate with the action of the wind its op¬ 
eration upon surrounding objects, and to see 


nature bowing and trembling, and the frag¬ 
ments of matter mounting upon the wind as 
the storm passes, there is a novel effect pro¬ 
duced on the mind of one who feels the cur¬ 
rent of air rolling heavily over him, while 
nothing moves around. 


CONNEXION BETWEEN COMMERCE 
AND INTELLECTUAL EMINENCE, 

BY ARCHIBALD ALISON, THE HISTORIAN. 

There is a natural connexion which has 
made itself manifest in every age, between 
commerce and intellectual eminence; and the 
greatest steps in human improvement, the 
greatest marvels of human exertions, have 
arisen from their combination. It was to the 
commercial city of Tyre that we owe the in¬ 
vention of letters—that wonderful and almost 
superhuman discovery, which first gave per¬ 
manence to the creations of thought, and sends 
forth the “winged words,” of genius, to make 
the circuit of the globe, and charm while it 
endures. It was its fortunate situation on the 
highway from Asia to Europe, since reopened 
by British enterprise, which gave its early 
celebrity and enduring fame to ancient Egypt; 
and we owe to the caravans of the desert, 
more even than to the power of the Pharaohs, 
those wonderful structures, the pyramids of 
Cairo, and temples of Luxor, which after 
the lapse of four thousand years, still stand 
“erect and unshaken above the floods of the 
Nile.” 

Rome herself, the mistress of the world, 
owed her vast and enduring domination mainly 
to the energies of commerce; and we have 
only to cast our eyes on the map, and behold 
her provinces clustered round the waters of 
the Mediterranean to be convinced that more 
even than to the arms of the legions, her pow¬ 
er was owing to the strength of the maritime 
cities which glittered along its shores. It was 
the caravans of the desert which raised those 
wonderful structures which still, at Tadmor 
and Palmyra, attest the magnificence of the 
queen of the east, and attract the admiration 
of the European traveller. It was in com¬ 
mercial Alexandria that alone a library was 
formed, worthy of the vast stores of ancient 
knowledge; and when the dominion of the 
consuls had fallen, and the arm of the Roman 
could no longer defend Italy from the swords 
of the barbarians, the incomparable situation 
and commercial greatness of Constantinople 
perpetuated, for a thousand years longer, on 
the frontier of barbarian wilds, the empire of 












THE BOUNTIES OP PROVIDENCE 329 


the east. Nor has commerce in modem times 
fallen from her high vocation, as the chief 
spring of social improvement, and most pow¬ 
erful humanizer of man. It was in the man¬ 
ufacturing city of Florence that a rival was 
found in Dante, to the genius of ancient po¬ 
etry; in the mercantile city of Venice that 
painting rose to its highest lustre on the can¬ 
vas of Titian. Genoa sent forth that daring 
spirit, which first burst the boundaries of an¬ 
cient knowledge, and exposed to European 
enterprise the wonders of another hemisphere. 
It was in Lisbon that there was at once found, 
in Vasco de Gama, the courage to brave the 
cape of Storms, and open the ocean path to 
the regions of the east, and the genius of 
Camoens to celebrate the glorious enterprise, 
and for ever enshrine it in the hearts of men. 
Great as these achievements are, there are 
yet greater things than these. It is in the 
north that the chief triumphs of the alliance 
between commerce and intellect are to be 
found. To one commercial city of Germany 
we owe the art of printing—to another the 
reformation. The first has rendered certain 
the diffusion of knowledge, the last, impossible 
the slavery of thought. Painting has again, 
in the north, reached its highest perfection in 
a commercial city—in Antwerp, where the 
immortal genius of Vandyke and Rubens was 
exhibited. Commerce in Holland achieved a 
glorious victory alike over the storms of na¬ 
ture, and the oppressions of man. But why 
should we travel to other times, and distant 
lands, for a confirmation of the same eternal 
truth. In this age, in this country, in this 
city, its highest glories have been found. 
Here it was, and here alone, that a successful 
stand was at last made against the aggressions 
of revolutionary Franee ; it was the discove¬ 
ries of Watt, of Arkwright, and of Crompton, 
which arrayed the forces that the arms of 
Napoleon were unable to subdue. It was a 
company of British merchants which subjected 
the vast realms of Hindostan to the sceptre 
of Queen Victoria, and exhibited the prodigy 
of a single Delhi Gazette, announcing in one 
day the capture of Cabool, in the heart of 
Asia, and the submission of the celestial em¬ 
pire under the walls of Nankin. It is the 
energy of British commerce which has peopled 
the western hemisphere with our descendants, 
and is spreading through the eastern archipel¬ 
ago, the wonders of European art and the 
blessings of Christian civilization. Hitherto 
the progress of improvement has ever been 
from east to west: from the rising to the set¬ 
ting of the sun; but the merchants of England, 
have, for the first time in the history of the 
world, rolled back the tide of civilization to 
its source, and returned its blessings to the 
regions of the sun. 


THE BOUNTIES OF PROVIDENCE, 

The number of human beings on the earth is 
calculated at nearly one thousand millions: all 
these are fed from the produce of the ground ; 
for even animal food is itself the produce of 
the ground. It is true that, for this result, 
man in general must labor; but how small an 
actual portion of this immense productiveness 
is due to man! His labor ploughs the ground, 
and drops the seed into the furrow. From 
that moment a higher agency supersedes him. 
The ground is in possession of influences 
which he can no more guide, summon, or re¬ 
strain, than he can govern the ocean. The 
mighty alembic of the atmosphere is set at 
work; the rains are distilled, the gales sweep, 
the dews cling, the lightning darts its fertilizing 
fire into the soil, the frost purifies the rapidity j 
of the fermenting vegetation—perhaps a thou- 1 
sand other agents are in movement, of which 
the secrets are still hidden from man, but the 
vividness of whose force penetrates all things, 
and the extent of whose action is only to be ; 
measured by the globe; while man stands by, 
and has only to see the naked and drenched 
soil clothing itself with the tender vegetation 
of spring, or the living gold of the harvest; 
the whole loveliness and bounty of nature de¬ 
lighting his eye, soliciting his hand and filling 
his heart with joy. 

But the wonder does not come to its limit 
with the provision for man ; the forest, the 
field, the mountain, the shore, are all peopled 
with eager existence. The world is all life. 
The quadruped millions range freely, and are 
fed abundantly, in regions into which man 
never struck a spade. We speak of things 
of common knowledge. The buffalo ranges 
in herds of thousands in realms of the New 
World, to which man has yet scarcely given 
a name. In Africa, the casual migration of 
the antelope has displayed such myriads that 
they have been compared to the movement 
of a great army. The elephant in eastern 
Africa, is almost master of the land. 

Who feeds those millions ? They can pro¬ 
duce nothing for themselves. But their table 
is spread upon the ground; and their provision 
is perpetual. If the tempest ravages it, or 
the sun scorches, or the frost smites, they are 
led by instinct, the invisible hand of Provi¬ 
dence, to another soil; and still the land fur¬ 
nishes their inexhaustible food. 

But the support of man and the quadruped 
races is but a portion of this wondrous pro¬ 
ductiveness. The millions of the reptile tribes, 
the millions of millions of the insect tribes, are 
all to be fed from the ground. 

Another race then comes into view equally 
fed from land and ocean—the fowls of the air. 
No grasp of numeration can calculate their 








MASSACHUSETTS STATEHOUSE. 


330 


multitudes. The migration of a single tribe 
—the wood-pigeons of the North American 
forests—has covered the sky with a column 
of flight, a living cloud, ten miles long and a 
mile broad. In some instances the migration 
is said to have lasted for days, continually 
darkening the sky. Such numbers defy all 
counting; yet they are all fed from the prod¬ 
uce of the ground. Even the birds of prey, 
and the sea-birds, are fed from that which was 
originally the produce of the ground. 

It is computed that the land of the globe 
would be equal to the support of fifteen times 
the number of its present inhabitants, or might 
sustain a population of fifteen thousand mill¬ 
ions. But the ocean, three times the extent 
of the land, probably contains even a much 
larger proportion of life, from its being pene¬ 
trable, through all its depths; and from our 
knowledge, not merely of its surface, but from 
the strong probability, amounting almost to 
certainty, that the mountains and valleys of 
its bed are filled with vegetation, fed on by 
those monstrous animals whose skeletons we 
so constantly find embedded, and thus pre¬ 
served in soils once evidently covered by the 
sea. There probably exist millions of those 
huge creatures, no more capable of ascending 
to the surface of the ocean than man to the sur¬ 
face of the atmosphere , yet enjoying their ex¬ 
istence, grazing in their submarine forests and 
prairies, ranging through an extent of pasture 
to which the broadest regions of the land are 
tame and narrow: and, undisturbed by the 
hostility or the molestation of man, giving in 
their provision and their enjoyment proofs, to 
higher than mortal eyes, of the spontaneous 
and boundless beneficence of their Creator. 


MASSACHUSETTS STATEHOUSE, 

This elegant and spacious edifice, situated in 
Boston on elevated ground adjoining the com¬ 
mon, and near the centre of this ancient and 
flourishing city, was erected in 1795. The 
corner-stone was laid on the fourth of July, 
by the venerable and patriotic Samuel Adams, 
then chief magistrate of Massachusetts (as¬ 
sisted by Paul Revere, master of the grand 
lodge of masons). He succeeded Governor 
Hancock, who died in October, 1793. 

The lot was purchased by the town of Bos¬ 
ton of the heirs of Governor Hancock, at four 
thousand dollars. The building was not finish¬ 
ed and occupied by the legislature till January 
1798; when the members of the general court 
walked in procession from the old statehouse 
at the head of State street, and the new dei- 
fice was dedicated by solemn prayer to Al¬ 


mighty God. The old statehourse, so called 
from the time of building the other, was long 
the place in which the general court of the 
province of Massachusetts Bay was held. It 
has lately been well repaired, and is the place 
of the meetings of the city authorities and for 
public offices. 

The corner-stone of the present statehouse 
was brought to the spot by fifteen white horses, 
at that time the number of states in the Union. 
The building is seen at a great distance in all 
directions, and is the principal object visible 
when the city is first seen by those who visit 
it. The form is oblong, being one hundred 
and seventy-three in front, and sixty-one feet 
deep. The height of the building, including 
the dome is one hundred and ten feet; and 
the foundation is about that height above the 
level of the water of the bay. “ It consists 
externally of a basement story, twenty feet 
high, and a principal story, thirty feet high. 
This, in the centre of the front, is covered with 
an attic sixty feet wide, and twenty feet high, 
which is covered with a pediment. Immedi¬ 
ately above rises the dome , fifty feet in diam¬ 
eter, and thirty in height ; the whole ter¬ 
minating with an elegant circular lantern, 
which supports a pine cone. The basement 
story is finished in a plain style on the wings, 
with square windows. The centre is ninety- 
four feet in length, and formed of arches which 
project fourteen feet, and make a covered walk 
below, and support a colonnade of Corinthian 
columns of the same extent above. 

The largest room is in the centre, and in 
the second story, and is occupied as the rep¬ 
resentatives’ chamber: it will accommodate 
five hundred members. The senate chamber 
is also in the second story and at the east end 
of the building, being sixty feet by fifty. On 
the west end is a large room for the meetings 
of the governor and the executive council; 
with a convenient ante-chamber. 

The view from the top of the statehouse is 
very extensive and variegated ; perhaps noth¬ 
ing in the country is superior to it. To the 
east appears the bay and harbor of Boston, 
interspersed with beautiful islands ; and in 
the distance beyond, the wide extended ocean. 
To the north the eye is met by Charlestown, 
with its interesting and memorable heights, 
and the navyyard of the United States; 
the towns of Chelsea, Malden, and Medford, 
and other villages, and the natural forests 
mingling in the distant horizon. To the west, 
is a fine view of the Charles river and bay, 
the ancient town of Cambridge, rendered 
venerable for the university, now two centuries 
old ; of the flourishing villages of Cambridge- 
port and East Cambridge, in the latter of 
which is a large glass-manufacturing estab¬ 
lishment ; of the highly-cultivated towns of 














View of the Statehouse, Boston 
























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































332 THE SONS OF THE OCEAN. 


Brighton, Brookline, and Newton ; and to the 
south is Roxbury, which seems to be only a 
continuation of Boston, Dorchester, a line, 
rich, agricultural town, with Milton and Quin¬ 
cy beyond, and still further south, the Blue 
hills, at the distance of eight or ten miles, 
which seem to bound the prospect. 


THE SONS OF THE OCEAN. 

As men in every station and condition of 
life, generally fall into particular divisions, a 
seafaring life admits of an arrangement of 
captains of vessels in three classes, distinct in 
their character from each other. There are, 
among sea-captains, as in all other kind of 
business, men who, from vocation and inclina¬ 
tion, and others, who, by chance, or a whim 
of fate, follow the sea; and others, again, 
who enter this path, because no other remains 
open to them. For the designation of these 
three classes, particular generic names are 
necessary, which we shall here make use of 
for that purpose. There are, among ship- 
captains, seamen, captains, and skippers. The 
seaman feels himself born for the ocean, and 
however the circumstances of his childhood 
may shape themselves, he wears out his boy’s 
shoes upon ship’s deck, and already, while a 
boy, obtains, in a manner, an elevated view 
of life and of the world, from the mainmast 
top, where his commander sends him in storm 
and tempest. Accustomed to the adverse 
elements, deprived of tranquillity and comfort, 
his moral powers are developed by difficulties 
and dangers. Courage in him is moral self- 
reliance, and manifests itself as strength of 
mind, in perseverance and endurance, in self- 
denial and privation. This courage of the 
seaman has nothing in common with the so- 
called “courage” of the mercenary, which, 
for a few pence, he manifests, as the blind, 
willess instrument of absolute despotism. 
The seaman passes through all grades of ser¬ 
vice, from cabin-boy to commander, and de¬ 
ports himself in every station and situation, 
as a born seaman. The ocean is his element; 
the storm is his companion ; the universe his 
world; and the central point of his life, his 
ship. The seaman, in his place as captain, 
regards the ocean as his home, his cabin as 
his dwelling, his quarterdeck as his promenade, 
his vessel as a part of his own being. The 
seaman on shore, longs to be on board again, 
as the youth longs for his beloved; all his 
thoughts and cares hover round his vessel. In 
conversation on different subjects, he is all the 
while thinking of his ship, and loves to talk 
of nothing so much as of the dangers he has 
gone through. He regards his vessel with 


pride, when he is leaving or returning to it; 
“ it is the joy of his stormy life.” The retired 
loneliness and the deep reflection which are 
at all times peculiar to his situation, develop 
in the seaman that depth of contemplation 
which regards life, from an elevated position, 
in accordance with the unconscious result of 
his nautical studies, which lead him into the 
boundless domain of astronomy. He con¬ 
siders our planet as an imperfect, insignificant 
thing, in mathematical relation, to other plan¬ 
ets—the universe, as a region of eternal mo¬ 
tion, where solar systems revolve around other 
solar systems. In such contemplations of 
creation (forced upon him, so to speak, by his 
calling), he feels the nothingness of earthly 
life, while he recognises the dignity of the 
human mind. As a spirit in a body of clay, 
he is able to fix the point of his momentary 
existence upon the ocean, with more or less 
precision. Conversant with the orbits of the 
stars, he arrives at the elevated degree of 
calculating by seconds the distances of con¬ 
stellations, whose motions are as familiar to 
him as the course of his own ship. Through 
mathematical demonstration, faith becomes in 
him the conviction that a higher power exists, 
which directs the universe, and reveals itself 
upon our planet, through its works as nature, 
and governs the tides—the breathing of the 
ocean, under the influence of the moon ; the 
pulse-throb of a mysterious life. Opposed to 
the grandeur of the universe, worldly brillian¬ 
cy appears to him in its insignificant nothing¬ 
ness, while his spirit feels itself allied with 
the all-governing primitive power, which re¬ 
veals itself in the daring elevation of human 
intellect, calculating the rotation of the constel¬ 
lations. He is emboldened to follow the path 
of a comet—to enter the realms of infinitude ; 
and shrinks back, with holy awe, before the 
impenetrable mystery of the magnet. 

The seaman treats his crew as men, and 
his officers as friends. Not forgetting that he 
has been a sailor himself, and borne the toils 
and hardships before the mast, he endeavors 
to lighten the lot of his crew. He observes 
a rigid fulfilment of his duties as captain, 
while he requires from each man equal ex¬ 
actitude in service, and equal respect as a 
man, on all occasions, and at all times. Be¬ 
holding in his officers men who may become 
to-morrow what he is to-day, he treats them 
as he desired to be treated by his commander 
when in a similar position. More accustomed 
to thinking than to talking, the seaman is 
laconic in his discourse, and likes, least of all, 
the obtrusive speeches and far-fetched ques¬ 
tions of tedious passengers, which are as 
strange to him as are life and the world to 
them. 

If accident brings him in contact with a man 










THE SONS OP 


in whom he finds a harmony with his own feel¬ 
ings, whether it be with a passenger on board, 
or in social intercourse on shore, the polar crust 
of ice which encloses his heart easily melts, 
and his inward nature opens, under the re¬ 
ciprocal attraction, to unrestrained communion. 
Bountiful and generous, without extravagance, 
in his intercourse on shore, he displays his 
peculiar qualities in hospitality on board his 
ship. He relinquishes the details of provi¬ 
ding for the crew to those whose office in¬ 
volves this duty, while he gives his particular 
attention to the supplying of pure water and 
sufficient stores. The instruments and charts 
required by his vocation, are especially dear to 
him, and his possessions of this sort approach 
to a luxury which he displays in nothing else. 

In his toilet he is neat and cleanly, as well 
as in his ship. He is less observant of the 
changes of fashion when on shore, than of the 
changes of the moon when on board, but takes 
care to have a wardrobe suitable to the varia¬ 
tions of climate. He is fond of reading on 
board, and keeps on increasing a little cabinet 
library, though few authors serve him; he 
likes only those that “ sail deep,” and carry 
rich cargoes. At sea, he longs to see his voy¬ 
age speedily ended; on shore, he wishes him¬ 
self at sea again. His manly character is not 
only evinced in imminent danger, but more 
especially by his equanimity and patience in 
calms and other hindrances. Familiar with 
the dangers of the element from his youth up, 
he becomes equally familiar with the thoughts 
of death, with which he is threatened by 
every cloud that disturbs the horizon, and 
which may bring about his last hour. Al¬ 
though attached to life by the bonds of love 
and friendship, he does not fear death in the 
moment of danger. Feeling the responsibility 
which rests upon him, by having the lives of 
other men confided to his charge, who are 
placed under his unrestricted authority, and 
who, in a measure, are all involved in his 
fate, within a limited space, are in depend¬ 
ence upon him, he maintains his firmness and 
presence of mind in decisive and critical mo¬ 
ments. Without expecting miracles of a su¬ 
pernatural character, where human help fails, 
he sustains himself as a man, upon the eleva¬ 
tion of strength of mind, the greatest miracle 
on earth, since “man, revealed in the sea¬ 
man,” dares to brave and contend against the 
destructive power of the elements; “a worm 
of the dust” floating upon the raging ocean, 
allied, as spirit, to the primitive power, whose 
breath pervades all nature, and roars in the 
storm and the hurricane. 

In churchyards and burial-places, we seldom 
see the memorial of a seaman. Born on the 
seashore—as a boy, growing up on board—as 
a youth, only on shore to go to sea again—the 


THE OCEAN. 333 


seaman, for the most part, ends his life in the 
waves—whereby the owners lose nothing, be¬ 
cause ship and cargo are insured. The ocean 
on which his life was developed, most gen¬ 
erally becomes his grave, and the storm which 
raged about his path, and proved his courage 
and hardihood, becomes the only witness of 
his death-hour. But storm and tempest, ra¬ 
ging above him in his last moments, offer no 
organ of renown. The murmur of the waves 
tells not to his people the last struggles of the 
seaman. No whispering of the billows in a 
calm, on the shore of his home, brings his 
last farewell to the objects of his affection, nor 
the last sigh, which, in the dismal distance 
of the raging elements, or within sight of the 
coast of his destination, is lost amid the howl¬ 
ing of the storm, and the roaring of the break¬ 
ers in whose companionship death embraces 
him. The fury of the tempest which caused 
his end, closing his bursting eyes in eternal 
night, and his heart in everlasting silence, is 
appeased, and has died away. The sunbeams 
which tanned the seaman’s cheek, shines upon 
no flower, sparkles in no dew-drop, upon the 
grassy sod of the seaman’s grave. His fame 
disappears as tracklessly as the wake which 
he leaves behind him in circumnavigating the 
globe, while his name lives in the recollection 
of kindred hearts, which knew and acknowl¬ 
edged him in his worth, as a man. This is 
the “ seaman,” developed in struggles, braving 
every danger, in the consciousness of his men¬ 
tal power and manly dignity. 

Opposed to the seaman, we see the “ skip¬ 
per.” The skipper has entered upon a sea¬ 
faring life, because he was good for nothing 
on shore ; he ran away from his apprentice¬ 
ship to a tailor, and was not strong enough 
for a blacksmith or carpenter. He sails ten 
years before the mast, and at length becomes 
mate, because there is no one else who can write 
the account in a table of reckoning, and call 
“stop!” when casting the log. He arrives, 
in twelve years, as second mate, so far that 
he can keep a “log-book,” and come tolerably 
near the latitude by means of the sextant, 
when the horizon is not too uncertain, or the 
ship too “ crank.” At length he finds a cap¬ 
tain who makes him first mate, and keeps him 
in his employ for years because he is as stupid 
as himself, and tolerates him because he, as 
mate, takes no notice of the captain's blunders. 
He becomes captain by his good name as a 
manager, by his marriage with a widow, by 
the caprice of an old woman, by the death of 
a captain, or by the influence of a sister or 
niece in the service of a merchant, and gets a 
ship, to repair the rigging, patch the sails, and 
take a crew over the sea on the “starving 
system.” Having completely fulfilled the 
expectations of the stingiest of owners in this 









— -—.~ 

334 THE SEEN AND THE UNSEEN. 


respect, a better vessel, with a more numer¬ 
ous crew, is confided to his “ hunger cure.” 
He is now captain, and remains so, and lays 
up money, that he may retire as soon as pos¬ 
sible. He traffics and cheats on board and on 
shore, and sells his own clothes to a sailor, in 
payment of his monthly wages. Instead of 
the “ Nautical Almanac,” he carries an old 
low Dutch reckoning book. He knows noth¬ 
ing of the distances of the constellations, and 
has no acquaintance with any star in the 
heavens but the evening star, which once 
caught his attei.tion, because it sparkled alone. 
He carried no chronometer, for he does not 
know how to use it. On a long course, he 
relies upon the accidental meeting of a ship 
which knows the longitude, and then boasts to 
his mate of his precision, if he has not made 
a mistake of more than seven degrees. He 
treats his crew like slaves, and his officers 
like servants; drinks a glass of wine or grog 
himself, but enjoins “temperance” upon all 
besides, for he maintains that “spirits and 
much meat are real poison at sea.” The 
provisions are given out to the crew in his 
presence, and he strictly controls the weight. 
If the ration is short by a half pound, he thinks 
it is “ very well! the next time more can be 
given.” His favorite seat is the water butt, 
upon the afterdeck, where he observes the 
clouds. The least unfavorable change in the 
wind sets his blood in a ferment, and in a con¬ 
trary wind, or even in a calm, he loses his 
senses; he raves about like a madman, looks 
up the cabin-boy, to find some fault with him, 
and seizes the nearest rope to cool his wrath 
upon him. If the wind becomes favorable, he 
chats with the man at the helm and with the 
cook, and promises the mate his influence to 
procure him a ship. In the neighborhood of 
the coast, he is thrown into a fever of anxiety, 
because he does not know where he is; he 
climbs the mast ten times a day, and insists 
that a sailor must see land where there is none. 
If he should, at length find a pilot-boat, he 
gets intoxicated with joy, gives over his ship 
to the pilot, and lays himself down in his 
berth. 

On land he is a sea-hero, and relates mira¬ 
cles of his ability as a seaman. He is fond 
of associating with the captains with whom 
he once sailed before the mast, and allows 
himself to be treated by them at the ship- 
chandler’s and at hotels. As the time ap¬ 
proaches for him to put to sea again, he be¬ 
comes cross and discontented, for he fears the 
sea “ as a miserable sinner does the devil.” 
He keeps no mate with him for more than 
one voyage, and no sailor will hire with him 
who has ever met with any one who has sail¬ 
ed with him before. He cheats his owners, 
and knows how to save, in provisions and in 


the inventory, for them and for himself, and 
retains their good opinion of him as an “ able 
captain.” When he has raked money enough 
together, he retires to repose, and becomes a 
grocer or tavern-keeper in the neighborhood 
of a harbor, frequented by sailors. He shud¬ 
ders at the thought of the sea, but allows him¬ 
self, nevertheless, to be called “captain,” and 
keeps a picture of the ship which he last had 
charge of, in a frame and glass. Such is the 
“ skipper,” as contrasted with the “seaman.” 

The third, or, property, the middle class, is 
represented by the “ captain.” He is neither 
seaman nor skipper, and there is nothing fur¬ 
ther to be said of him, than that he is “cap¬ 
tain of this or that ship.” 

It is self-evident that the true seaman is to 
be found in all ranks; among the sailors of 
merchant-vessels, as well as among the mid¬ 
shipmen of the navy; although many a skip¬ 
per and captain, favored by fortune, commands 
a frigate, which the seaman, who stands at the 
helm as a sailor, would be more capable of 
guiding. In respect to the three above ap¬ 
pellations, we remark, in conclusion, that the 
word “ seaman” is often used where skipper 
or captain is meant, and in English may, per¬ 
haps, be replaced by the word “sailor.” But 
our notion of a good seaman is, evidently, 
something different from that of a good sailor, 
for every skipper and captain can be a good 
sailor—“if he has a good wind.” 


THE SEEN AND THE UNSEEN, 

There is a spiritual element interfused 
through the whole material world, and which 
lies at the source of all action. It is this which 
lifts the world out of chaos, and clothes it with 
light and order. The most ordinary act springs 
out of the soul, and derives its character from 
the soul. It seems trifling only because its 
spiritual origin is forgotten. While on the 
surface of life all may be calm, it is startling 
to think what mysteries of passion and af¬ 
fection may be beneath. 

We need not go far, if we will but open 
our eyes, to see how the most ordinary acts 
of man are penetrated by a spiritual element; 
and where this is, nothing can be tame or 
commonplace. Nothing, at first sight, is more 
worldly and unspiritual than a commercial 
newspaper. It deals solely with the affairs 
of the day, and with material interests. Yet, 
when we come to consider them, its driest de¬ 
tails are instinct with human hopes, and fears, 
and affections; and these illuminate what was 
dark, and make the dead letter breathe with 
life. For example, in the paper of to-day, a 










THE SEEN AND THE UNSEEN. 335 


middle-aged man seeks employment in a cer¬ 
tain kind of business. The advertisement 
has, in substance, been the same for weeks. 
For a time, he sought some place which pre¬ 
supposed the possession of business habits and 
attainments. Then there was a change in 
the close of the advertisement, indicating that 
he would do anything by which he could ren¬ 
der himself generally useful to any employer. 
And this morning there is another change. 
He is willing to commence with low wages, 
as employment is what he especially wants. 
All this is uninteresting enough. Yet what 
depths of life may lie underneath this icy 
surface of business detail. It is easy for the 
fancy to seek out and make the acquaintance 
of this man. 

Could we but look through these long lines 
of advertisements into the hearts of those who 
have published them, what a revelation would 
there be of human life! Here are partner¬ 
ships formed and closed ; young men entering 
into business, old men going out of it; new 
inventions and speculations; failures; sales 
of household furniture and dwellings. These 
have been attended by the most sanguine 
hopes, by utter hopelessness, by every form 
of fear, anxiety, and sorrow. This young 
man, just entering business, looks forward with 
anticipations bright as the morning to his mar¬ 
riage-day. This sale of furniture speaks of 
death, diminished fortunes, a scattered family. 
There is not a sale of stocks which does not 
straiten or increase the narrow means of wid¬ 
ows and orphans. This long column of ship 
news—a thousand hearts are this moment 
beating with joy and thankfulness, or are op¬ 
pressed by anxiety, or crushed down by sorrow, 
because of these records which to others seem 
so meaningless ! One reads here of his pros¬ 
perity ; another of ruined fortunes; and the 
wrecked ship, whose crew was swept by the 
surge into the breakers, and dashed on the 
rocks—how many in their solitary homes are 
mourning for those who sailed with bright 
hopes in that ship, but who shall never return! 
And more than this—could these lines which 
record the transactions of daily business tell 
of the hearts which indited them, what tempt¬ 
ations and struggles would they reveal! They 
would tell of inexperience deceived or pro¬ 
tected, of integrity fallen or made steadfast as 
the rock, of moral trials, in which noble na¬ 
tures have been broken down or built up. Had 
we the key and the interpretation of what we 
here read, this daily chronicle of traffic would 
be a sadder tragedy than any which Shaks- 
pere wrote. It is the same with all human 
labor. “The spirit giveth life.” Were it 
not so earth would be a dungeon. If toil 
were only toil, or if it had no object but the 
supply of one’s own bodily wants—to gratify I 


hunger and thirst, or to minister to luxurious 
appetites—if this were all, the labor of man 
would be as the labor of brutes. But all the 
products of man’s labor are but symbols of a 
spiritual life beneath. To the outer eye, 
what toilsome drudgery is oftentimes the life 
of a mother of a family! She labors by day, 
she watches by night; her years are worn out 
in disconnected, trifling occupations. And 
yet, could we look beneath, when the mind is 
right, we should find all these details bound 
together, elevated, hallowed by the spiritual 
element blended with them. While with 
housewifely care she goes from room to room, 
under the labor of her hands grow up, as un¬ 
der the sunshine and dew, the affections and 
virtues of a happy home. 

Thus ever under the visible is the invisible. 
Through dead material forms circulate the 
currents of spiritual life. Deserts, rocks, and 
seas, and shores, are humanized by the pres¬ 
ence of man, and become alive with memories 
and affections. There is a life which appears, 
and under it, in every heart, is a life which 
does not appear—which is, to the former, as 
the depths of the sea to the waves, and the 
bubbles, and the spray, on its surface. There 
is not an obscure house among the mountains 
where the whole romance of life, from its 
dawn to its setting, through its brightness and 
through its gloom, is not lived through. The 
commonest events of the day are products of 
the same passions and affections which, in 
other spheres, decide the fate of kingdoms. 
Outwardly, the ongoings of ordinary life are 
like the movements of machinery—lifeless, 
mechanical, commonplace repetitions of the 
same trifling events. But they are neither 
lifeless, nor old, nor trifling. The passions 
and affections make them ever new and ori¬ 
ginal, and the most unimportant acts of the 
day reach forward in their results into the 
shadows of eternity. 

Open but the eye, and we live in the midst 
of wonders. The enthusiastic and ardent pine 
for scenes of excitement. They fly to seek 
them in foreign lands ; they bury themselves 
in the pages of poetry and romance; the ev¬ 
eryday world around them seems to them stale, 
flat, and unprofitable. But it is only in seem¬ 
ing. At our very doors transpire realities, by 
whose side, were the veil taken away which 
hides them, the fictions of romance would 
grow pale. Around us, all the times, in light 
and in darkness, is going on the mighty mys¬ 
tery of life, and passing before us in shadow 
is the dread mystery of death. Want and 
prosperity, anxieties which wear out the heart 
of youth, passions which sink it to the dust, 
hopes that lift it to the heaven—hid by the 
veil of custom and the senses—these are alive 
all around us. 








336 GOVERNMENT OF THE TEMPER. 


GOVERNMENT OF THE TEMPER. 

It is observed that every temper is inclined, 
in some degree, to either passion, peevishness, 
or obstinacy. Many are so unfortunate as to 
be inclined to each of the three in turn : it is 
necessary, therefore, to watch the bent of our 
nature, and to apply the remedies proper for 
the infirmity to which we are most liable. 
With regard to the first, it is so injurious to 
society, and so odious in itself, especially in 
the female character, that one would think 
shame alone would be sufficient to preserve a 
young lady from giving way to it; for it is as 
unbecoming her character to be betrayed into 
ill-behavior by passion as by intoxication, and 
she ought to he ashamed of the one as much 
as of the other. Gentleness, meekness, and 
patience, are her peculiar distinctions; and an 
enraged woman is one of the most disagreeable 
sights in nature. 

It is plain from experience that the most 
passionate people can command themselves 
when they have a motive sufficiently strong 
—such as the presence of those they fear, or 
to whom they particularly desire to recom¬ 
mend themselves. It is therefore no excuse 
to persons, whom you have injured by unkind 
reproaches, and unjust aspersions, to tell them 
you was in a passion : the allowing yourself 
to speak to them in passion is a proof of an 
insolent disrespect, which the meanest of your 
fellow-creatures would have a right to resent. 
When once you find yourself heated so far as 
to desire to say what you know would be pro¬ 
voking and wounding to another, you should 
immediately resolve either to be silent or to 
quit the room, rather than to give utterance 
to anything dictated by so bad an inclination. 
Be assured you are then unfit to reason or to 
reprove, or to hear reason from others. It is 
therefore your part to retire from such an oc¬ 
casion of sin; and wait till you are cool, be¬ 
fore you presume to judge of what has passed. 
By accustoming yourself thus to conquer and 
disappoint your anger, you will, by degrees, 
find it grow weak and manageable, so as to 
leave your reason at liberty: you will be able 
to restrain your tongue from evil, and your 
looks and gestures from all expressions of 
violence and ill-will. Pride, wbicli produces 
so many evils in the human mind, is the great 
source of passion. Whoever cultivates in 
himself a proper humility, a due sense of his 
own faults and insufficiencies, and a due re¬ 
spect for others, will find but small tempta¬ 
tion to violent or unreasonable anger. 

In the case of real injuries, which justify 
and call for resentment, there is a noble and 
generous kind of anger, a proper and neces¬ 
sary part of our nature, which has nothing 
sinful or degrading. I would not wish you to 


be insensible to this; for the person who feels 
not an injury, must be incapable of being 
properly affected by benefits. With those 
who treat you ill without provocation, you 
ought to maintain your own dignity. B ut, in or¬ 
der to do this, while you show a sense of their im¬ 
proper behavior, you must preserve calmness, 
and even good breeding, and thereby convince 
them of the impotence as well as injustice of 
their malice. You must also weigh every 
circumstance with candor and charity, and 
consider whether your showing the resent¬ 
ment deserved may not produce ill consequen¬ 
ces to innocent persons—as is almost always 
the case in family quarrels—and whether it 
may not occasion the breach of some duty or 
necessary connexion, to which you ought to 
sacrifice even your just resentments. Above 
all things, take care that a particular offence 
to you does not make you unjust to the gen¬ 
eral character of the offending person. Gen¬ 
erous anger does not preclude esteem for 
whatever is really estimable, nor does it de¬ 
stroy good-will to the person of its object: it 
even inspires the desire of overcoming him by 
benefits, and wishes to inflict no other punish¬ 
ment than the regret of having injured one 
who deserved his kindness ; it is always pla¬ 
cable and ready to be reconciled as soon as 
the offender is convinced of his error; nor can 
any subsequent injury provoke it to recur to 
past disobligations, which had been once for¬ 
given. 


ROSES. 

The rose has been from time immemorial 
the flower par excellence ; and it still retains 
the throne of its early glory, notwithstanding 
the multitude of new flowers that have been 
imported, or bred out of the old varieties by 
art, and the extreme beauty of many of these; 
and, in one or other of its varieties or modes of 
treatment, it is a flower of all civilized coun¬ 
tries ; it is a flower accessible to people of 
all ranks, and generally possessed by them if 
they have even the smallest plot of ground. 
The cottager is in great part won from grosser 
occupations in his leisure hours by attending 
to the rose-trees which adorn his little patch 
of ground, or are trained with wild and luxu¬ 
riant grace upon the rude walls of his cottage, 
making the whole appear like a favorite work 
of nature in one of the gayest of her sportive 
moods. Then, if the man of rank and wealth 
is in possession of a complete bed of roses, 
with their dwarfs, shrubs, standards, and pil¬ 
lars, all in the luxuriance of bloom, he has a 
collection of beauty and a richness of perfume 
which no other production of art and nature 
can equal. 














Oregon City, on the Willamette River 










































































































































































































































































































































































OREGON. 


338 


OREGON. 

That extensive portion of North America, 
lying west of the Rocky mountains, and ex¬ 
tending to the Pacific, called Oregon, was for 
a long period a subject of the rival claims of 
Gz’eat Britain, and the United States. The 
whole country extends from the Klamet range, 
or Snowy mountains, about the parallel of 
forty-two degrees, on the south, to fifty-four 
degrees, forty minutes, on the north, and from 
the Rocky mountains on the east to the Pa¬ 
cific ocean on the west, comprising an area of 
about four hundred thousand square miles. 
The section more immediately in dispute was 
that watered by the Columbia river and its 
tributaries. But by a treaty concluded at 
Washington, on the fifteenth of June, 1846, 
this long-pending question, which at times se¬ 
riously threatened to break the harmony exist¬ 
ing between the two nations, was permanently 
settled, by fixing the line of boundary between 
the respective portions of each country, with 
some minor stipulations, at the forty-ninth 
parallel of latitude, giving to Great Britain all 
lying north of that line, and to the United 
States all south of it. The latter portion, which 
is the subject of this article, extends from lat¬ 
itude forty-two to forty-nine degrees, and 
comprises about two hundred and fifty thou¬ 
sand square miles. As the wild regions this 
side of the Rocky mountains are becoming 
occupied and subdued, under the genial influ¬ 
ence of civilization, the tide of emigration 
begins to surmount that hitherto impassable 
barrier, and many a hardy settler, in search 
of a new home, now directs his course toward 
the distant Oregon, and settlements, and even 
cities, are already rising upon the Pacific sea¬ 
board. The discussion and final settlement 
of the Oregon boundary question, having of 
itself awakened an interest in that remote 
region, a brief historical and topographical 
sketch of the Oregon territory, may be of 
interest to our readers. 

Captain Robert Gra}% in the ship Colum¬ 
bia, from Boston, discovered and entered the 
mouth of the Columbia river, May 7th, 1792, 
and gave it the name of his vessel. He was 
the first person that established the fact of the 
existence of this great river, and this gave to 
the United States the right of discovery. In 
1804-’5, Captains Lewis and Clark, under 
the direction of the government of the United 
States, explored the country from the. mouth 
of the Missouri, to the mouth of the Colum¬ 
bia, and spent the winter of 1805-6, at the 
mouth of the Columbia. This exploration 
of the river Columbia, the first ever made, 
constitutes another ground of the claim of the 
United States to the country. In 1808, the 
Missouri fur company, at St. Louis, estab¬ 


lished a trading post beyond the Rocky mount¬ 
ains, on the head-waters of Lewis river, the 
first ever formed on any of the waters of the 
Columbia. In 1810, the Pacific fur company, 
under John Jacob Astor, of New York, was 
formed ; and in 1811, they founded Astoria, 
eight miles from the mouth of the Columbia, 
as their principal trading post, and proceeded 
to establish others in the interior. A little 
later in the same year, the Northwest com¬ 
pany sent a detachment to form establishments 
on the Columbia; but when they arrived at 
the mouth of the river, they found the post 
occupied. In consequence of the exposure of 
Astoria by the war of 1812, the post was sold 
out to the Northwest company. At the close 
of the war, Astoria was restored, by order of 
the British government, to its original found¬ 
ers, agreeably to the first article of the treaty 
of Ghent. Various attempts have been made 
since the war to renew the fur trade in Ore¬ 
gon. In 1821, the Hudson’s bay, and North¬ 
west company, who had previously been 
rivals, were united, and since that time have 
greatly extended their establishments, in the 
region of Oregon. 

The Oregon territory is divided into three 
natural belts or sections, viz : 1st, That be¬ 
tween the Pacific ocean and the President’s 
range, or Cascade mountains, called the ivest- 
ern section ; 2d, That between the Cascade 
and Blue mountain range, or middle section ; 
3d, That between the Blue and Rocky mount¬ 
ain chains, or eastern section : and this divis¬ 
ion will equally apply to the soil, climate, 
and productions. All these divisions are 
crossed by the Columbia river; the main 
stream is formed, in the middle region, by the 
union of several branches flowing from the 
Rocky mountains, and receiving in their 
course several smaller streams, draining the 
intermediate sections. The mountain ranges 
extend, for the most part, in parallel lines 
with the coast, rising, in many places above 
the region of perpetual snows (here 5,600 
feet above the sea), which naturally produces 
a difference of temperature between them and 
also affects their productions. 

The Cascade range, or that nearest the 
coast, runs parallel with the seacoast, the 
whole length of the territory, and rising in 
many places in regular cones, from 12,000 to 
14,000 feet above the level of the sea. 

The distance from the seashore to this 
chain, is from one hundred to one hundred and 
fifty miles, and the ridge almost interrupts the 
communication between the first and second 
sections, except where the Columbia river 
forces a passage through it. The climate of 
this section is mild throughout the year, ex¬ 
periencing neither t he extreme cold of winter 
nor the heat of summer. The prevailing 












OREGON. 


339 


winds in the summer are from the northward, 
and westward, and in the winter, from the 
southward, and westward, and southeast, 
which are tempestuous. The winter is sup¬ 
posed to last from December to February. 
Rains usually begin to fall in November, and 
last till March; but they are not heavy, 
though frequent. Snow sometimes falls, but 
it seldom lies over three days. The frosts 
are early, occurring in the latter part of Au¬ 
gust ; this, however, is to be accounted for by 
the proximity of the mountains. Fruit-trees 
blossom early in April. The soil, in the 
northern parts, varies from a light brown loam 
to a thin vegetable earth, with gravel, and 
sand, as a subsoil; in the middle parts, from 
a rich heavy loam and unctious clay, to a 
deep heavy black loam, on a trap-rock ; and 
in the southern (the Willamette valley), the 
soil is generally good, varying from a black 
vegetable loam to decomposed basalt, with 
stiff clay, and portions of loose gravel-soil. 
The hills are generally basalt, and stone, and 
slate ; between the Umpqua river, and the 
southern boundary the rocks are primitive, 
consisting of slate, hornblende, and granite, 
which produce a gritty and poor soil; there 
are, however, some places of rich prairie, 
covered with oaks. It is, for the most part, 
a well-timbered country. It is intersected 
with the spurs, or offsets from the Cascade 
mountains, which render its surface much 
broken ; these are covered with a dense for¬ 
est. The timber consists of pines, firs, spruce, 
oaks (red and white), ash, arbutus, arbor, vi¬ 
tae, cedar, poplar, maple, willow, cherry, and 
tew, with a close undergrowth of hazel, rubus, 
roses, &c. The richest and best soil is found 
on the second or middle prairie, and is best 
adapted for agriculture ; the high and low be¬ 
ing excellent for pasture-land. The climate 
and soil are admirably adapted for all kinds 
of grain—wheat, rye, oats, barley, peas, &c. 
Indian corn does not thrive in any part of this 
territory where it has been tried. Many fruits 
appear to succeed well, particularly the ap¬ 
ple, and pear. Vegetables grow exceedingly 
well, and yield most abundantly. 

The Blue mountains are irregular in their 
course, and occasionally interrupted, but gen¬ 
erally running in a northerly direction; they 
commence in the Klamet range, near the south¬ 
ern boundary of the territory ; they are bro¬ 
ken through by the Saptin or Lewis river, 
and branch off in hills of moderate elevation, 
until they again appear on the north side of 
the Columbia river, above the Okanagan riv¬ 
er, passing in a north direction, until they 
unite with the Rocky mountains, in latitude 
fifty-three degrees north. The climate of the 
middle section is variable ; during the summer 
the atmosphere is much drier and warmer, 


and the winter much colder, than in the west¬ 
ern section. Its extremes of heat and cold 
are more frequent and greater, the mercury, 
at times, falling as low as eighteen degrees 
below zero, Fahrenheit, in winter and rising 
to one hundred and eighty degrees in the 
shade, in summer: the daily difference of 
temperature is about forty degrees of Fah¬ 
renheit. It has, however, been found ex¬ 
tremely salubrious, possessing a pure and 
healthy air. No dews fall in this section. 
The soil is, for the most part, a light sandy 
loam ; in the valleys a rich alluvial; and the 
hills are generally barren. The surface is 
about one thousand feet above the level of 
the western section, and is generally a rolling 
prairie country. In the centre of this sec¬ 
tion, and near and around the junction of the 
Saptin or Snake and Columbia rivers, is an 
extensive rolling country, which is well adapt¬ 
ed for grazing. South of the Columbia, and 
extending to the southern boundary of the 
territory, it is destitute of timber or wood, 
although there are portions of it which might 
be advantageously farmed. 

The Rocky mountains form the boundary 
of the eastern section, and of the territory. 
They commence on the Arctic coast, and con¬ 
tinue an almost unbroken chain until they 
merge in the Andes of South America. The 
climate of the eastern section is extremely 
variable. In each day there are all the chan¬ 
ges incident to spring, summer, autumn, and 
winter. There are places where small farms 
might be located, but they are few in number. 
The soil is rocky and uneven, and presents 
an almost unbroken barren waste. Stupen¬ 
dous mountain-spurs traverse it in all direc¬ 
tions, affording little level ground. Snow 
lies on the mountains nearly, if not quite, 
throughout the year. It is exceedingly dry 
and arid, rains seldom falling, and but little 
snow. This country is partially timbered, 
and the soil much impregnated with salts. 

The Columbia is the great river of the ter¬ 
ritory. Its northern branch takes its rise in 
the Rocky mountains, in latitude fifty degrees 
north, longitude one hundred and sixteen west; 
thence it pursues a northern route, to near 
M‘Gillivary’s pass in the Rocky mountains. 
At the boat encampment, the river is thirty-six 
hundred feet above the level of the sea (here 
it receives two small tributaries—the Canoe 
river, and that from the Committee’s Punch¬ 
bowl), thence it turns south, having some ob¬ 
structions to its safe navigation, and receiving 
many tributaries in its course to Colville, 
among which are the Kootanie, or Flat Bow, 
and the Flat Plead, or Clarke river, from the 
east, and that of Colville from the west. 
This great river is bounded thus far on its 
course, by a range of high mountains, well 









340 


OREGON. 


wooded, and in places expands into a line of 
lakes before it reaches Colville, where it is 
two thousand and forty-nine feet above the 
level of the sea, having a fall of five hundred 
and fifty feet in two hundred and twenty 
miles. To the south of this it trends to the 
westward, receiving the Spokan river from 
the east, which is not navigable, and takes its 
rise in the lake of Cceur d‘Alene. Thence it 
pursues a westerly course for about sixty 
miles, receiving several smaller streams, and 
at its bend to the south, it is joined by the 
Okanagan, a river that has its source in a line 
of lakes, affording canoe and boat navigation 
for a considerable extent to the northward. 
The Columbia thence passes to the south¬ 
ward, until it reaches Wallawalla, in the lat¬ 
itude of forty-five degrees, a distance of one 
hundred and sixty miles, receiving the Pis- 
cous, Y’Akama, and Point de Boise, or Enty- 
atecoom, from the west, which take their rise 
in the Cascade range, and also its great south¬ 
eastern branch, the Saptin or Lewis, which 
has its source in the Rocky mountains, near 
our southern boundary, and brings a large 
quantity of water to increase the volume of 
the principal stream. The Lewis is not nav¬ 
igable, even for canoes, except in reaches. 
The rapids are extensive, and of frequent oc¬ 
currence. Its length, to its junction with the 
Columbia, is five hundred and twenty miles. 
The Columbia, at Wallawalla, is one thou¬ 
sand two hundred and eighty-six feet above 
the level of the sea, and about thirty-five 
hundred feet wide ; it now takes its last turn 
to the westward, receiving the Umatilla, 
Quisnel’s, John Day’s, and De Chute rivers, 
from the south, and Cathlatate’s from the 
north, pursuing its rapid course of eighty 
miles, previous to passing through the range 
of Cascade mountains, in a series of falls and 
rapids that obstruct its flow, and form insur¬ 
mountable barriers to the passage of boats by 
water during the floods. These difficulties, 
however, are overcome by portages. Thence 
there is still-water navigation, for forty miles, 
when its course is again obstructed by rapids. 
Thence to the ocean, one hundred and twenty 
miles, it is navigable for vessels of twelve feet 
draught of water at the lowest state of the 
river, though obstructed by many sand-bars. 
In this part it receives the Willamette from 
the south, and the Cowelitz from the north. 
The former is navigable for small vessels 
twenty miles, to the mouth of the Klackamus, 
three miles below its falls; the latter can not 
be called navigable, except for a small part of 
the year, during the floods, and then only for 
canoes and barges. The width of the Colum¬ 
bia, within twenty miles of its mouth, is much 
increased, and it joins the ocean between Cape 
Disappointment, and Point Adams, forming a 


sand-pit from each, by deposite, and causing 
a dangerous bar, which greatly impedes its 
navigation and entrance. The mouth of the 
Columbia, however, is every day becoming 
better known. A new and excellent channel 
has recently been discovered. It is to the 
northward of “ Peacock Spit,” and at no 
point in this channel is there less than three 
and a half fathoms depth of water. From 
explorations, it is thought there is also an 
available south channel, which, should it 
prove to be well founded, will make three 
entrances to the great western river. 

Fraser’s river takes its rise in the Rocky 
mountains, about the fifty-third parallel, and 
after receiving the waters of several smaller 
streams, breaks through the Cascade range, 
in a succession of falls and rapids, and empties 
into the gulf of Georgia, about the forty-ninth 
parallel, its whole length being three hundred 
and fifty miles. The Chikeelisis next in im¬ 
portance. It has three sources among the 
range of hills that intersect the country north 
of the Columbia river. After a very tortuous 
course, and receiving some small streams, is¬ 
suing from the lakes in the high ground near 
the head-waters of Hood’s canal and Puget’s 
sound it disembogues in Gray’s harbor. To 
the south of the Columbia there are many 
small streams, but three of which deserve the 
name of rivers. Those are the Umpqua, 
Too-too-tut-na or Rogues’ river, and the Kla- 
met, the last-named entering into the ocean 
south of the parallel of forty-two degrees. 

The character of the great rivers of Ore¬ 
gon is peculiar : rapid, and sunken much be¬ 
low the level of the country, with perpendic¬ 
ular banks; indeed, they are, as it were, in 
trenches, it being extremely difficult to get at 
the water in many places, owing to the steep 
basaltic walls; and, during the rise, they are 
in many places confined by dalles, which 
back the water some distance, submerging is¬ 
lands and tracts of low prairie, giving the 
appearance of extensive lakes. 

In the various sections of Oregon there are 
many lakes. The Okanagan, Stuart’s, Quis- 
nell’s, and Kamloop’s, are the largest in the 
northern section. The Flatbow, Cceur d’Al- 
ene, and Kulluspelm, in the middle section, 
and those forming the head-waters of the large 
rivers in the eastern section. The country is 
well watered, and there are but few places 
where an abundance of water, from either 
rivers, springs, or rivulets, can not be obtain¬ 
ed. The smaller lakes add much to the pic¬ 
turesque beauty of the country. They are 
generally at the head-waters of the smaller 
streams. 

There are extensive fisheries in the rivers 
and on the coast. They all abound in salmon 
of the finest flavor, which run twice a year, 







OREGON. 


3 ii 


beginning in May and October, and appear 
inexhaustible. The Columbia produces the 
largest, and probably affords the greatest 
numbers. There are some few of the bran¬ 
ches of the Columbia that the spring fish do 
not enter, but they are plentifully supplied 
in the fall. The great fishery of the Colum¬ 
bia is at the Dalles ; but all the rivers are 
well supplied. The last one on the northern 
branch of the Columbia is near Colville, at 
the Kettle falls ; hut salmon are found above 
this in the river and its tributaries. In Fra¬ 
zer’s river the salmon are said to be very nu¬ 
merous, but not large; they are unable to get 
above the falls, some eighty miles from the 
sea. In the rivers and sounds are found carp- 
soles, salmon, salmon-trout, sturgeon, cod, 
flounders, ray, perch, herring, lamprey-eels, 
and a kind of smelt called “ slirow,” in great 
abundance ; also large quantities of shell-fish, 
viz., crabs, clams, oysters, mussels, &c., 
which are all used by the natives, and consti¬ 
tute a large proportion of their food. Whales, 
in numbers, are found along the coast, and are 
frequently captured by the Indians in and at 
the mouth of the straits of Juan de Fuca. 

Abundance of game exists, such as elk, deer, 
antelope, bears, wolves, foxes, muskrats, mar¬ 
tens, beavers, a few grizzly bears, and sif- 
fieurs, which are eaten by the Canadians. 
In the middle section, or that designated as 
the rolling prairie, no game is found. In the 
eastern section the buffalo is met with. The 
fur-bearing animals are decreasing in numbers 
yearly, particularly south of the parallel of 
forty-eight degrees ; indeed, it is very doubt¬ 
ful whether they are sufficiently numerous to 
repay the expense of hunting them. The 
Hudson’s bay company have almost the ex¬ 
clusive monopoly of this business. They 
have decreased, owing to being hunted with¬ 
out regard to season. This is not, however, 
the case to the north ; there the company 
have been left to exercise their own rule, and 
prevent the indiscriminate slaughter of either 
old or young, out of the proper season. In 
the spring and fall the rivers are literally cov¬ 
ered with geese, ducks, and other water-fowl. 

Oregon City. —The colony at the falls of 
the Willamette river, forty miles above the 
mouth of the Columbia, have laid the foun¬ 
dation of a town called “ Oregon City,” a 
view of which is given on p. 337. It is from 
a sketch taken on the spot. The colony here 
intend to avail themselves of the immense 
water-power, and have commenced making 
extensive improvements. They have organ¬ 
ized themselves into a government for self¬ 
protection, and adopted a constitution. Their 
constitution recognizes religious and civil lib¬ 
erty, trial by jury, and the writ of habeas 
corpus ; enacts that schools shall be estab¬ 


lished for the general education of the people ; 
that the utmost good faith shall be observed 
toward the Indians; and that slavery and in¬ 
voluntary servitude shall only be countenanced 
as a punishment of crime. A house of rep¬ 
resentatives is established by the code of laws, 
and its majesty is declared the fundamental 
principle of government. The house appoints 
a governor, who holds his office for two years, 
and supreme and other courts of law, for the 
exercise of the judicial power. All free male 
descendants of white men, inhabitants of the 
territory, may, under this constitution, vote 
at elections and be eligible to offices; and any 
settler who may reside in Oregon, for six 
months, shall be entitled to a citizen’s privi¬ 
leges. The currency laws are founded upon 
a good basis, and the importation or manufac¬ 
ture of ardent spirits is prohibited by an act, 
which imposes lines for transgressing its pro¬ 
visions. 

The upper colony from the United States, 
is situated on the Willamette river, ninety- 
four miles from its entrance into the Colum¬ 
bia. It consists of about one hundred fami¬ 
lies, who raise considerable grain, and have 
about four thousand head of cattle, extensive 
fields of wheat, potatoes, peas, and vegetables 
of all descriptions. They have hogs, poultrv, 
&c., in abundance. 

A road has been projected along the south 
side of the Columbia river from the Dalles 
to Oregon city. This will afford a safe and 
a comparatively easy route from the Blue 
mountains to the valley of the Willamette at 
all seasons of the year. It will also open to 
the settlements of the valley a country of 
almost boundless extent for the pasturage of 
sheep and stock of all kinds. 

Fort Vancouver, on the north bank of the 
Columbia, ninety miles from the ocean, has 
been the principal seat of the British fur-trade. 
Fort Wallawalla is on the south side of the 
Columbia, ten miles below the entrance of 
Lewis river. There are also several other 
settlements at different points of the territory. 
There have also been for some years several 
missionary stations at different points in Ore¬ 
gon, and since the settlement of the question 
of boundary, new ones have been established. 

Like the earlier settlers on the Atlantic 
seaboard, the settlers in Oregon are subject to 
attacks from the Indians. But the Indian 
race, from their rude treatment of disease, 
and their reckless and dissipated habits, are 
rapidly decreasing in numbers, and fast dis¬ 
appearing from the country—while the pro¬ 
tecting arm of the national government, will 
soon be extended over the territory ; which 
with the increasing settlements of the whites, 
will be an effective shield, from the murder¬ 
ous attacks of this savage race. 











342 


CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


Portrait of Christopher Columbus. 


CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS, 

AND THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. 

The discovery of a new planet, so small 
and distant, that to the greater part of man¬ 
kind it must ever remain invisible, has lately 
been exciting the curiosity of the public, and 
will in all probability secure immortality to 
the fortunate astronomer who first observed it. 
Such are among the greatest triumphs reserved 
for science in the present day, when every 
corner of the globe has been searched out, and 
the very stars of heaven numbered as they 
shine. Far different was the state of the 
world in the middle of the fifteenth century, 
when, awaking from the slumber of ages, men 
set themselves to explore the laws regulating 
the system of the heavens and the earth, and 
when new or unknown worlds remained in 
both to reward their labors. 

Among the successful discoverers of that 
period, the name of Christopher Columbus, 
or, as he designated himself when he fixed his 
residence in Spain, Cristoval Colon, is the 
most justly distinguished. Some obscurity 
attaches to the place of his birth, but the hon¬ 
or seems due to Genoa, where his father, a 
poor but worthy woolcomber, was long resi¬ 


dent. When his name had become illustrious, 
many noble families claimed kindred with 
Columbus, but on such uncertain grounds that 
his son and historian was content to assume 
him as the founder of the farrfily ; “ for I am 
of opinion,” says he, “that I should derive 
less dignity from any nobility of ancestry, than 
from being the son of such a father.” In the 
ancient city of Genoa, then, in the year 1435, 
or 1436, was Columbus born. His education 
seems to have been considerable for the pe¬ 
riod, having been taught reading and writing, 
arithmetic, drawing, and painting, with such 
success, that, as one of his historians observes, 
by these acquirements he might have earned 
his bread. At Pavia, then a celebrated 
school, he subsequently studied Latin ; and, 
with more diligence, geometry, geography, 
astronomy, and navigation ; to which branches 
his inclination so powerfully led him, that he 
afterward ascribed it to a secret impulse from 
the Deity, leading him to those studies which 
should fit him to accomplish his high destiny. 
His birth in a maritime city like Genoa, at a 
time when reviving literature was anew un¬ 
folding the geographical knowledge and theo¬ 
ries of the ancients, was no less fortunate, and 
must have tended greatly to strengthen his in¬ 
clination for naval pursuits. 











CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


3 13 


His life after leaving tlie university, is for 
some time involved in obscurity, perhaps from 
the unwillingness of his son to disclose the 
mean condition from which he rose. If he 
ever followed his father’s trade, as has been 
asserted, it could only be for a short time, as 
he says that he began to navigate when only 
fourteen years of age. The Mediterranean, 
surrounded by numerous independent states, 
* engaged not only in mutual commerce, but in 
frequent wars and piratical excursions, formed 
a good though rough school for the young sail¬ 
or, in which he would soon acquire those hab¬ 
its of decision, boldness, and command over 
fierce associates, so essential to his future suc¬ 
cess. In 1459, he was employed in the Gen¬ 
oese fleet, which assisted the duke of Cala¬ 
bria in his attempts to recover the throne of 
Naples for his father, Count Rene of Prov¬ 
ence. Under this king he had command of a 
vessel sent to Tunis, to capture a galley lying 
there. His sailors, frightened by reports of 
the enemy’s strength, insisted on returning; 
but Columbus, while seeming to yield, by 
altering the card of the compass, led them to 
the place he wished, and as he boasts of his 
deceit, probably succeeded in his enterprise. 
The attempt on Naples, after a four years’ 
contest, failed, and Columbus seems for some 
time to have been occupied in commercial voy¬ 
ages in the Mediterranean, in one of which he 
is known to have visited the isle of Scio. 
Two admirals of his own name, or Colombo, 
as it is in the Italian, then commanded the 
fleets of Genoa, which were usually under 
the influence of France, notwithstanding the 
nominal independence of the republic. The 
younger of these was so famous for his ex¬ 
ploits against the infidels, that it is said the 
Moorish women used his name to quiet their 
unruly children. Genoa being then at war 
with Venice, this bold corsair on one occasion 
undertook to intercept four rich Venetian gal¬ 
leys on their return from Flanders. The ves¬ 
sels met on the coast of Portugal, and a des¬ 
perate battle ensued. The vessel commanded 
by Columbus, having grappled with her op¬ 
ponent, according to the custom of that time, 
both were involved in flames, and it being im¬ 
possible to separate them, the crews had to 
escape into the sea. Columbus being an ex¬ 
pert swimmer, seized an oar, and by means 
of it reached the shore, though fully two 
leagues distant. In this strange fashion, his 
son relates that Columbus first arrived in Por¬ 
tugal, and repairing to Lisbon, where he 
found many of his countrymen, took up his 
abode for some time in that city. As this in¬ 
cident happened in the summer of 1485, if 
Columbus was actually engaged in it, this 
must have been at a later period of his histo¬ 
ry, after he had been some time in Portugal. 


No country in Europe was at that time 
better adapted for the future discoverer. Por¬ 
tugal, under the influence of Prince Henry, 
was engaged in the full career of maritime 
adventure. Despising the fabled dangers of 
the ocean and the torrid zone, the Portuguese 
were gradually extending their voyages along 
the African coast, and the prince just men¬ 
tioned already foresaw the time when, follow¬ 
ing the course of Hanno round the southern 
extremity of Africa, a direct road should be 
opened to the treasures of the east. Colum¬ 
bus arrived in Portugal in 1470. He was 
then in the full vigor of manhood, and is de¬ 
scribed by his contemporaries as tall, well- 
formed, muscular, and of an elevated, digni¬ 
fied demeanor. His visage was long, his 
complexion fair and ruddy, his nose aquiline, 
his eyes light gray, but apt to enkindle, and 
his hair, once of a light color, now white with 
care and trouble. He had subdued his natu¬ 
rally irritable temper, and was amiable and 
affable in social intercourse. He was at the 
same time strict in his religious observances, 
and his whole character was tinctured with a 
lofty, solemn enthusiasm, which led him to 
regard himself as the appointed agent to work 
out some great designs of Heaven. In this 
country, and with these feelings, it required 
but a slight impulse to direct the whole mind 
and energy of Columbus, into the path of 
maritime discovery. And this he received 
from an apparent accident which might have 
rather seemed destined to fix him at home. 
When attending religious service in the con¬ 
vent of All Saints, he saw and became enam¬ 
ored with a lady of Italian descent, the daugh¬ 
ter of a distinguished navigator in the service 
of Prince Henry. Having married the lady, 
he had access to the charts and papers of her 
father, now dead, and thus became acquainted 
.with the plans and routes of the Portuguese. 
When on shore, he occupied himself in con¬ 
structing maps and charts for the support of 
his family, but occasionally joined in the ex¬ 
peditions of his adopted countrymen to the 
coast of Guinea. He also resided for some 
time on the island of Porto Santo, the gover¬ 
nor of which was married to his wife’s sister. 
Here his son, Diego, was born : and Colum¬ 
bus had frequent opportunities of meeting 
with persons engaged in the discoveries on the 
coast of Africa. Here also rumors of islands 
seen in the western ocean were frequently 
heard, and revived the belief in the fabled 
Atlantis of Plato. These tales, however 
little credit he might attach to them, and his 
trade of map-making, soon gave a decided 
bias to his mind, and ripened into a grand 
scheme. 

There were various grounds on which Co¬ 
lumbus built his faith of new lands to be dis- 










covered by sailing west in the Atlantic ocean. 
The travels of Marco Polo had made known 
to Europeans the vast empire of China, with 
the Japanese islands in the adjoining sea, and 
excited men’s cupidity by accounts of their 
luxury and wealth. Columbus assumed that 
the earth was a sphere, and not a plane as 
was at that time the orthodox belief, and 
hence inferred that by sailing west he could 
reach those countries to which a long and 
wearisome overland journey had conducted 
the Venetian traveller. The width of the 
intervening ocean Columbus greatly underra¬ 
ted, having adopted very erroneous notions of 
the true dimensions of the globe from the Ar¬ 
abic geographers, then the highest authorities 
on scientific subjects. He was confirmed in 
this opinion of land to be discovered in the 
west, by various passages in ancient authors, 
—in Aristotle, Pliny, Strabo, and Seneca; of 
whom the last in a remarkable passage proph¬ 
ecies that the time should come when the 
chains of ocean should be loosened, and new 
worlds expand to the astonished gaze of men. 
Columbus also collected various indications of 
unknown land in the west, some of them very 
curious—as a piece of carved wood, evident¬ 
ly not labored with an iron instrument, found 
far west of Cape St. Vincent; the unknown 
trees, seeds, and immense reeds, driven by 
currents on the Azores and coasts of Europe ; 
and especially the dead bodies of two men, 
with features unlike any known tribe, cast on 
the island of Flores. His religious spirit al¬ 
so led him to read his discovery as foretold in 
Holy Writ, and dimly announced in the mys¬ 
tic revelations of the prophets. These are 
the grounds he himself assigned for his opin¬ 
ion ; but his enemies have ascribed his belief 
to a shipwrecked pilot, who died in his house, 
and left him written accounts of unknown 
lands seen in the west, or to a map of Martin 
Behem, a celebrated contemporary cosmogra- 
pher. A far more probable source of infor¬ 
mation is to be found in Columbus’s inter¬ 
course with Iceland, to which he made a voy¬ 
age in 1474, as its inhabitants are well known 
to have discovered, and even founded a colony 
named Vinland, on the coast of North Amer¬ 
ica, some centuries before. That Columbus 
never alluded to these discoveries may be as¬ 
cribed to his fear of thus lessening liis own 
reputation, and to the fact that the description 
given by the Northmen of the regions they 
visited did not correspond with the brilliant 
picture of Cathay and Cipango, by which he 
hoped to induce some sovereign to aid him in 
his splendid enterprise. 

Columbus is reported to have first proposed 
his scheme of discovery to his native city, and 
on its rejection there, to have applied to the 
court ol Portugal. His son relates that the 


king at first was favorable to the proposition, 
but finally refused it in consequence of his 
high demands of honors and rewards. An¬ 
other authority states that the king looked on 
Columbus as a vain-glorious boaster, and only 
referred his proposition to a junto of learned 
men, in consequence of his importunities. 
This junto, as was to be expected, treated the 
project as extravagant and visionary, and 
when it was brought before the royal council, 
their decision was confirmed. John II. was 
thus led to reject the proposal, but at the 
same time, with a meanness unworthy of a 
great and wise prince, endeavored to deprive 
Columbus of the honor due to his genius. 
Having obtained all his maps, plans, and oth¬ 
er documents, a vessel was secretlv fitted out 
and directed to pursue the route indicated by 
Columbus. However, a storm arose, as if 
designed to defeat this treachery, and the sail¬ 
ors easily frightened, and devoid of zeal, re¬ 
turned home, ridiculing a scheme which they 
wanted courage to prosecute. Disgusted at 
this unworthy attempt, Columbus refused all 
further negotiation with King John, and his 
wife being now dead, he resolved to leave 
Portugal. In the end of 1484, he left Lisbon 
secretly, either fearing that the king might 
try to detain him, or more probably wishing 
to elude his creditors. Next year he was in 
Genoa, and probably then made that proposi¬ 
tion to his native city, which has been errone¬ 
ously placed at an earlier period. The repub¬ 
lic, exhausted by war, and with declining 
commerce, was in no condition to accept this 
offer. Some affirm that he then carried his 
proposal to Venice, where it was also declined, 
in consequence of the critical state of affairs ; 
but the national hostility of the rival repub¬ 
lics, and the want of all express evidence, 
render this fact more than doubtful. 

Columbus’s wanderings are for a time hid¬ 
den in obscurity, and the next trace of him 
is in Spain, on his way to the court of Ferdi- 
nand and Isabella. While offering the gift 
of a new world to monarchs, he himself was 
in want of the merest necessaries. Near the 
little seaport of Palos, in Andalusia, stood a 
Franciscan convent. One day a stranger, ac¬ 
companied by a young boy, stopped at the 
gate, and asked from the porter a little bread 
and water for his child. In the meantime the 
prior, Juan Perez, passing by struck with his 
appearance, entered into conversation with the 
stranger, and w r as so interested in his story, 
as to detain him as his guest. The stranger, 
it need hardly be said, was Columbus, on his 
way to a neighboring town, to seek his broth¬ 
er-in-law, married to a sister of his late wife. 
The prior, though deeply interested in the 
magnificent views of Columbus, had too little 
confidence in his own judgment to give them 















CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


345 


immediate approval, and sent for a scientific 
friend, Garcia Fernandez, the physician of 
Palos. After many conferences and consulta¬ 
tions with the most experienced mariners of 
the neighboring town, the friar and his friend 
decided in favor of Columbus’s plan, and ad¬ 
vised him to lay it before the Spanish sover¬ 
eigns. To aid him in this, Friar Juan Perez 
not only gave him a letter of recommendation 
to Fernando de Talavera, the queen’s confes¬ 
sor, with whom he was on intimate terms, but 
in the meantime took charge of his son Diego. 
Inspired by this kindness with new hopes, 
Columbus set out in the spring of 1486, for 
the court of Castile. 

This was truly the heroic age of Spanish 
history, when the marriage of Ferdinand and 
Isabella, uniting the once rival kingdoms of 
Aragon and Castile, exalted the power of the 
cross, and broke the terrible sway of the cres¬ 
cent. The fierce Moors, shut up in the 
mountain fastnesses of Granada, with diffi¬ 
culty defended this last remnant of their once 
powerful empire. The king and queen, though 
preserving their separate rights as independ¬ 
ent sovereigns, yet made mutual cause against 
the unbelievers. Ferdinand was a wise, and 
prudent, though cold, selfish, and artful sov¬ 
ereign, fighting rather for dominion than glo- 
rv, and inspired more by bigotry than religion. 
His three great objects—the conquest of the 
Moors, the expulsion of the Jews, and the 
establishment of the inquisition, were pursued 
from the commencement of his reign with un¬ 
relenting energy, and perhaps as much from 
motives of politics as religion. In all of them 
his queen, with more of a woman’s heart and 
innate benignity of disposition, tried to modi¬ 
fy his cruel zeal, even against the influence 
of her spiritual advisers. In many instances 
she exhibited much firmness and intrepidity, 
but was more distinguished by her zeal for 
the welfare of her people, her labors to heal 
the wounds which internal wars had inflicted, 
and her fostering care of literature and sci¬ 
ence. To these princes, Columbus now pro¬ 
ceeded with his proposals; but did not find 
that ready access he had expected. Talavera 
regarded his scheme as absurd; and the court¬ 
iers contrasted the splendor of his specula¬ 
tions with the poverty of his garb. “ Because 
he was a stranger and went but in simple ap¬ 
parel, nor otherwise credited than by the let¬ 
ter of a grey friar, they believed him not, 
neither gave ear to his words, whereby he 
was greatly tonnented in his imagination.” 
The princes too,were now personally engaged 
in the Moorish war; sometimes attacking 
their cities, at others hurried awav to preserve 
their own country from the merciless ravages 
of the Saracen cavalry. Amidst such pres¬ 
sing affairs, it is little wonder that the wild 


theories of a poor unfriended stranger met 
with a slow hearing. For some time he ap¬ 
pears to have again supported himself by the 
sale of maps, while following the movements 
of the court, His earnest enthusiasm, how¬ 
ever, gradually gained him friends and sup¬ 
porters ; among them the celebrated Cardinal 
Mendoza, archbishop of Toledo, who to the 
scholarship of the period, added the qualities 
of a quick prudent man of business. He was 
in great favor with his sovereigns, who con¬ 
sulted him on all matters ef consequence, so 
that he was named “ the third king of Spain.” 
The cardinal, when once convinced that the 
theory of Columbus involved nothing hereti¬ 
cal, procured him an audience at court, where 
his modest self-possession, and the practical 
scientific reasons with which he supported his 
opinion, so far convinced Ferdinand, that he 
appointed a council of learned men to consid¬ 
er the question and make a report to him. 

This council met in the Dominican convent 
at Salamanca, where Columbus was in the 
meanwhile lodged and entertained with great 
hospitality. The assembly consisted not only 
of learned professors, but of various dignita¬ 
ries of the church and friars; none of them, 
we may well believe, likely to regard the bold 
innovator with much favor. It is said that 
when Columbus began his statement, the fri- * 
ars of Su Stephens, the most learned convent, 
alone paid attention, while the other mem¬ 
bers seemed as if already resolved not to be 
convinced. Their most formidable objections 
were drawn from misapplied passages of 
scripture, backed by quotations from" some 
of the fathers, who, in their simplicity, had 
ridiculed the notion that the earth was round, 
and that there could possibly be men walk¬ 
ing with their heels upward and their heads 
hanging down, or a place where trees grew 
topsy-turvy, and rain, hail, and snow, fell up¬ 
ward. Columbus skilfully avoided the dan¬ 
ger of heresy w r hile maintaining the truth of 
science; he showed that the language of 
scripture was figurative, and adapted to pop¬ 
ular comprehension ; that the fathers were 
not writing philosophical treatises, but pious 
homilies; and that the strongest argument, 
drawn from the notion that the torrid zone 
was uninhabitable, could not be true as he 
himself had already sailed on the coast of 
Guinea, almost to the equinoctial line. The 
engraving on p. 347, represents Columbus at 
the moment when the force of his argument 
has arrested the attention of the judges. 
While one hand rests upon the Bible, the in¬ 
dex finger of the other is directing their at- J 
tention to that point on the globe, where the I 
undiscovered continent is supposed to lie. | 
The argument, the proof, the refutation, are 
strikingly exhibited. His figure is erect, his j 
















CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


346 


eye enkindled, and his whole expression ani¬ 
mated. Around him are seen the judges, with 
pity, doubt, incredulity, and conviction, vari¬ 
ously depicted in their countenances. The 
eloquence, truth, and devout enthusiasm of 
Columbus, convinced many of his judges, but 
the majority remained incredulous, conferen¬ 
ces were multiplied without result, and a 
final decision was procrastinated till the re¬ 
turn of summer (1487) again called the court, 
to begin the campaign against the Moors. 
During: its continuance there was no time to 
listen to his suit, though Columbus followed 
the court and took an active part in the war, 
receiving occasional supplies of money. 

These delays do not appear to have ex¬ 
hausted his hopes or patience, as in the spring 
of 1488, he declined an invitation from King 
John, to return to the court of Portugal, in 
which he was assured of protection from all 
civil or criminal suits pending against him. 
Perhaps disgust at the conduct of the king, 
had some influence on this refusal, as his 
brother Bartholomew was now in England, en¬ 
deavoring to prevail on Henry VII. to engage 
in this project of discovery. From this mon¬ 
arch, he says that he received a favorable let¬ 
ter, though at what time, does not appear. 
In 1489, Columbus was commanded to attend 
the court, in order to have a conference with 
the king, but the Moorish war and other 
matters prevented him from obtaining an au¬ 
dience till the winter of 1491. The court 
was then preparing for the campaign in which 
Granada, the last refuge of the Moors, fell, 
and the council had given in its report that 
his scheme was vain and impossible. The 
most learned portion of its members were, 
however, in his favor, and hence probably the 
undecided nature of the royal answer, that 
the care and expense of the war, prevented 
them engaging in any new enterprise, but that 
on its conclusion, they would treat with him 
about his proposal. Bitterly disappointed 
with this cold and evasive answer, Columbus 
turned his back on the court where he had 
wasted so many precious years. But, bound 
to Spain by attachment to a lady of Cordova, 
he was unwilling to leave the country without 
another attempt. tie applied to the dukes 
of Medina Sidonia, and Medina Celi, both 
possessing vast estates in the maritime prov¬ 
inces of Spain, which gave them the power 
and revenues rather of princes than of sub¬ 
jects. The former, however, rejected his 
proposal as the dream of an Italian visionary; 
and the latter, though so much disposed to 
engage in it, that he had actually three ves¬ 
sels ready to sail, at length, dreading the dis¬ 
pleasure of the king, dismissed Columbus, 
advising him again to apply at the court, as 
the undertaking was too great for a subject, 


and fit only for a sovereign power. Thus i 
baffled anew in his hopes, Columbus resolved 
to proceed to Franee, but first returned to the 
convent where he had, seven years before, 
left his son. Here he meant to leave his sec¬ 
ond son, whom the lady mentioned above had 
borne him, and whom, though illegitimate, he 
always treated with the same favor as his el¬ 
der brother. 

The worthy friar, Juan Perez, w r as greatly 
moved by the disappointment of his friend ; 
still more so when he heard his determination 
to quit Spain, and carry his important project 
to another land. He again cousulted his 
friend the physician, calling in also Martin 
Alonzo Pinzon, the head of a distinguished and 
wealthy family of merchants in the neighbor- ' 
ing town. Pinzon not only approved the plan 
of Columbus, but offered to bear the expense 
of a renewed application to the court. The 
friar, who had formerly been confessor to the 
queen, undertook to Avrite her on the subject, 
and having persuaded Columbus to wait an 
answer, despatched a letter by a trusty mes¬ 
senger. In fourteen days he brought back an 
answer, thanking the friar for his timely ser¬ 
vices, and requesting Columbus to return to 
court. On receiving this epistle, Perez 
mounted his mule, and set out secretly for the 
court, passing through the newly-conquered 
territory of the Moors. He found the queen 
busy with the siege of Granada, but being 
admitted to an audience, pleaded the cause of 
Columbus with so much earnestness, that Isa¬ 
bella again requested him to be sent to her, 
and ordered him a sum of money to pay his 
expenses. This favorable result, was un¬ 
doubtedly aided by the recommendation of the 
duke of Medina Celi. On being informed 
of this returning favor, Columbus again set 
out for the court, and arrived there in time to 
witness the surrender of Granada, the mourn¬ 
ful departure of the Moors, and the triumphal 
entry of the Spaniards, into the magnificent 
halls of the Alhambra. Amid the rejoicing 
multitudes he walked melancholy and dejected, 
perhaps contrasting with secret contempt the 
conquest which swelled every bosom with 
rapture, with that nobler and bloodless victo¬ 
ry, which he felt destined to achieve over the 
unbounded ocean, and musing on the vast 
realms he was to subjugate to the cross. 

The monarchs were faithful to their prom¬ 
ise. Persons of confidence were appointed 
to negotiate with him, but an unexpected dif¬ 
ficulty arose. Columbus demanded princely 
stipulations for himself, worthy of the vast 
empire he had to bestow. He was to be in¬ 
vested with the title and privileges of admiral 
and viceroy, over the countries he should dis¬ 
cover, and receive a tenth of the gains either 
by trade or conquest. These terms were at 













Christopher Columbus before the Council of Salamanca. 










































































































































318 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


once rejected as degrading to the dignity of 
the crown, but Columbus would accept of 
nothing less, and again mounting his muie, 
took his departure for Cordova (February, 
1492), resolved to proceed immediately to 
France. In this emergency, Luis de St. An¬ 
gel, receiver of the revenues in Aragon, de¬ 
termined to make one bold effort to prevent 
this irreparable loss, and dishonor to the na¬ 
tion. He obtained an audience of the queen, 
pointed out to her how small the risk com¬ 
pared to the probable gain, how much this 
enterprise might advance the glory of God, 
exalt the church, and extend her own empire ; 
and what cause of regret it would furnish to 
her friends, of triumph to her enemies, should 
it be accomplished by some other power. He 
urged these and other arguments, till Isabella 
declared her resolution to undertake the en¬ 
terprise, but Ferdinand looked coldly on the 
affair, and represented the exhausted condition 
of the treasury. But the queen’s enthusiasm 
was now roused, and she exclaimed, “ I under¬ 
take this enterprise for my own crown of 
Castile, and will pledge my jewels, to raise 
the necessary funds.” St. Angel offered to 
advance the money, but this was not required, 
and the funds really came from the revenue of 
Aragon, Ferdinand’s own kingdom. A mes¬ 
senger on horseback was sent after Columbus, 
who overtook him two leagues from the city, 
and with some difficulty persuaded him to 
return. 

Columbus was now received with great 
kindness, and in an audience with the queen, 
interested her deeply in his success, by expa¬ 
tiating on the opportunities it offered for ex¬ 
tending the Christian faith. Ferdinand con¬ 
tinued cold as usual, and smiled at the pious 
suggestion of Columbus, that the treasures 
won from his discoveries should be consecra¬ 
ted to recover the holy sepulchre from the 
power of the infidels. The terms finally 
agreed to were—that Columbus and his heirs 
should enjoy the office of admiral and gover¬ 
nor in all the countries he discovered, and be 
entitled to a tenth of all the gold, silver, pre¬ 
cious stones, and other merchandise gained 
within his admiralty; or, on contributing an 
eighth of the cost, to an eighth of the profits. 
This agreement was signed on the 17th of 
April, 1492, at Santa Fe, near Granada, and 
on the 30th of that month, an order was is¬ 
sued to the town of Palos, to have two cara¬ 
vels ready for sea in ten days, to be placed 
under the command of Columbus. His son, 
was in the meantime appointed page to the 
young prince. Thus, at last successful, after 
many weary years of poverty, neglect, and 
bitter ridicule, Colmnbus returned to Palos 
in his fifty-sixth year, to prepare for his great 
enterprise. 


But his difficulties were not yet at an end. 
When the royal order was read at Palos, 
universal terror prevailed, and the boldest 
mariners refused to take part in an expedition 
devoted, as they believed, to certain destruc¬ 
tion. The royal mandate, the persuasions of 
Columbus, the influence of the prior, were 
alike disregarded. On the 20th of June, a 
new order was issued, empowering the magis¬ 
trates to press into this service any vessels or 
crews they might think proper; but this ex¬ 
pedient was no less fruitless. At last Pinzon, 
already mentioned as a supporter of Colum¬ 
bus, came forward, and with his brother, not 
only furnished one vessel, but offered to ac¬ 
company the expedition. Their example and 
influence encouraged others, so that three 
small vessels were ready for sea within a 
month. Only one of them was fully decked, 
the others were open in the centre, but built 
high at the prow and stern, with cabins for 
the accommodation of the crew. Columbus 
commanded the largest vessel, Martin Pinzon 
the second, with one of his brothers as pilot, 
and a third brother had command of the third 
vessel. The whole company consisted of one 
hundred and twenty persons, of whom ninety 
were sailors. Before setting sail, Columbus 
confessed himself to the friar Juan Perez, 
and partook of the communion, in which he 
was joined by most of his associates. 

On Friday, the 3d of August, 1492, half 
an hour before sunrise, Columbus sailed from 
the bar of Saltes, a small island opposite the 
town of Huelva, on this memorable expedi¬ 
tion. He directed his course first for the 
Canaries, where he arrived on the 9th, and 
was detained for three weeks repairing one of 
his vessels, which was already injured, prob¬ 
ably by its owners. When sailing past Ten- 
erilFe, an eruption of its volcanic peaks terri¬ 
fied his crew, ready to interpret every event 
into a portent of disaster. Columbus reas¬ 
sured them by pointing out its natural cause, 
being more concerned b}" a report he heard at 
Gomera, where he had stopped to take in pro¬ 
visions, that three Portuguese caravels, were 
cruising about with an intent to capture him. 
On the 6th of September, he left this island, 
but was delayed by calms, so that it was the 
9th of that month before they lost sight of 
Ferro, the farthest west of these islands. 
Then it is said the hearts of many of the 
crew failed them; they burst into tears and 
loud lamentations, at thus taking leave, as for 
ever, of home, family, and friends, and plun¬ 
ging headlong into the unknown dangers of the 
trackless ocean. Columbus encouraged them 
by pictures of the wealth and splendor of the 
regions they were about to visit, and promis¬ 
es of rich rewards. He also issued orders to 
the commanders of the other vessels in case 







CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


349 



Columbus quelling the Mutiny on Board the Santa Maria. 


of separation, to sail due westward, for sev¬ 
en hundred leagues, when, as land might then 
be expected, they were to sail only during the 
day. He also, to deceive his crew, kept two 
reckonings of the ship’s course, one correct 
for his own use, the other in which a number 
of leagues were daily subtracted from the 
sailing of the ship, open to the inspection of 
all. On the 11th of September, the sight of 
a broken mast, anew excited the terror of his 
sailors. Two days after, he for the first time, 
observed the variation of the compass, which 
no longer pointed to the pole-star, but gradu¬ 
ally varied more and more to the west. He 
could not conceal this phenomenon from the 
pilots, who, not without reason, feared that 
the compass was about to lose its virtue, and 
to leave them without a guide in the pathless 
ocean. Columbus, for whose skill as an as¬ 
tronomer they had great respect, quieted their 
minds by telling them that the compass re¬ 
mained unchanged, its apparent motion being 
caused by the revolution of the north star 
round the true pole—an explanation not satis¬ 
factory to his own mind. 

The ships were now in the region of the 
trade-winds, which blowing steadily from the 
east, so that for many days they did not re¬ 
quire to shift a sail, wafted them rapidly on 
their way. Land birds occasionally appeared, 
cheering the sailors with the hope that their 
voyage was near its end. The soft balmy air 


is compared to the pure mornings in April in 
Andalusia, wanting only the song of the night¬ 
ingale to complete the illusion. Soon after 
they reached the large patches of floating sea¬ 
weed, now known to cover many thousand 
square miles in this part of the Atlantic. The 
sailors regarded this as another sign of land, 
and the crews were in high spirits, striving 
who should catch the first sight of it. Some 
clouds in the north, and the flight of a great 
number of birds, were also thought to indi- i 
cate that it might be found in that quarter. ! 
But Columbus, firm to his purpose, steered 
boldly to the west, where alone he was con¬ 
vinced India was to be found. New fears 
were however rising in the minds of his peo¬ 
ple ; the vast tract of ocean they had passed, 
seemed to separate them for ever from Spain, 
while the constant unvarying wind which fa¬ 
vored their progress, precluded all possibility 
of return. Columbus might have tried in vain 
to dispel their fears, had not new signs of land 
and a contrarv wind added weight to his ar- 
guments. Some small birds also came singing 
to the ships in the morning, and flew away in 
the evening, which wonderfully cheered the 
sailors, who thought them too weak of wing, 
to have wandered far from land. Their fears 
from the calm were at the same time dispelled 
bv a heavy swell of the sea without wind, 
which came so opportunely, that Columbus 
regarded it as sent by Providence to allay the 






















































CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


350 


murmurs of his crew. Every new disappoint¬ 
ment added to their discontent, and they were 
already talking of compelling him to return, 
or if he was positive in refusing, casting him 
into the sea. Though conscious of his danger, 
Columbus remained serene and confident, 
soothing and encouraging some, menacing 
others with signal punishment. One incident 
will show the excitement prevailing among 
the crews. The lightness of the winds per¬ 
mitted the vessels to sail so close, that the 
commanders could frequently converse togeth¬ 
er. On the 25th of September, Martin Pin- 
zon affirmed that they must be near the island 
of Cipango, which the admiral had entered in 
his chart. This document, tied to a cord, 
was flung from the one vessel to the other, 
and Columbus was busy examining it, when 
Pinzon cried out, “ Land, land, senor; I 
claim my reward and pointed to the south¬ 
west, where indeed there was an appearance 
of an island. Columbus fell on his knees, 
thanking God; and Pinzon, joined by the 
crews, repeated the “ Gloria in excelsis .” The 
joy of the people could not be restrained, and 
the admiral was forced to sail to the south¬ 
west, till the morning sun showed the land to 
have been only an evening cloud. 

Similar deceptions repeatedly took place, 
and the crew, fearing that they had sailed be¬ 
tween two islands without observing them, 
began to utter murmurs and menaces, when 
renewed signs of land revived their hopes. 
Even Pinzon, however, on the 6th of October, 
proposed that they should sail south ; but the 
admiral maintained his course to the west. 

On the morning of the 7th, land was again 
announced in the west, but melted away be¬ 
fore the evening ; and Columbus having now 
reached the distance where he expected land, 
or 750 leagues (2600 miles), consented to sail 
to the southwest to which he saw all the 
small land birds directing their flight in the 
evening. They continued three days in this 
direction, the indications of their approach to 
land always increasing in number. On the 
evening of the third day, the crew broke out 
in open defiance, but Columbus told them it 
was in vain to murmur, as he was determined 
to persevere ; and next day the signs of land 
were so decisive, that every one was eagerly 
on the watch. In the evening, after singing 
the vesper hymn, and addressing the crew on 
the prospect of finding land that night, he 
took his place on the high poop of the vessel. 
Suddenly, about ten o’clock, he thought he 
saw a light glimmering in the distance ; and 
calling a friend pointed it out to him. They 
called a third person, but it had disappeared, 
though returning afterward at intervals. At 
two in the morning, a gun from the Pinta, 
which, as the quickest sailer, usually kept the 


lead, announced that land was in sight. A 
sailor, Rodrigo de Triana, claimed the reward, 
but it was subsequently adjudged to Colum¬ 
bus, as having previously seen the light. 
Land was now clearly seen, when they short¬ 
ened sail and lay to till the dawn. What 
must have been the feelings of Columbus in 
these few hours, when the vision that had 
haunted him for so many years, for which he 
had toiled and labored, enduring poverty, re¬ 
proach, and ridicule, was about to be realized 
—when the barrier of the ocean was to be 
broken down, and a new world laid open to 
civilized man ! 

On the morning of Friday, 12th of Octo¬ 
ber, 1492, Columbus first saw the New World. 
A low island, densely covered with trees, 
among which numerous naked savages were 
running to and fro, as if lost in astonishment, 
lay before him. He cast anchor, and with 
the two Pinzons put off for the shore in their 
boats. On landing, Columbus threw himself 
on his knees, kissed the earth, and returned 
thanks to God with tears of joy. He then 
took possession of the island for his sovereigns, 
and named it San Salvador. The crew had 
now passed to the opposite extreme of exul¬ 
tation, and were loud in professions of fidelity, 
and entreaties of pardon for the past. The 
natives, meanwhile, watched them with trem¬ 
bling anxiety, but at last ventured to approach 
their guests, whom they fancied had come 
down from heaven, while their ships seemed 
to them monsters inspired with life. Their 
copper-colored and painted skins were equally 
new to the Spaniards ; while their simplicity, 
gentleness, and confidence, were not less pleas¬ 
ing. Columbus examined the island, but 
found no articles of commerce, and only a few 
ornaments of gold, which the natives seemed 
to intimate were procured in the south. On 
the evening of the 15th, he sailed south, 
among the Bahamas, landing on several, and 
everywhere treating the natives with great 
kindness. The Spaniards were delighted 
with the rich vegetation, the beautiful cli¬ 
mate, and the novelty of everything they be¬ 
held, but disappointed at the scarcity of gold, 
or other valuable metals. At last the admi¬ 
ral reached Cuba, whose lofty mountains and 
fertile plains reminded him of Sicily, though 
far surpassing that island in the tropical lux¬ 
uriance of the vegetation, and the brilliant 
plumage of the birds that thronged its woods. 
Columbus believed this island to be the Cipan¬ 
go of Marco Polo, or perhaps the continent 
of Asia, and was in constant expectation of 
finding gold, or reaching the court of the 
Grand Khan. He sent messengers into the 
interior, but they returned without discover¬ 
ing gold or spices, or any trace of the great 
monarch. They however noticed the potato, 











Columbus taking Possession of the New World. 














































































































































































































































































































































































352 


CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


and soon after were astonished by observing 
the natives rolling up the tobacco in a leaf, 
setting it on fire, and inhaling the smoke. 
Thus early were these two most important 
gifts of the new to the old world, noticed by 
its discoverers. 

From Cuba, Columbus ran eastward in 
search of a large island, which the Indians 
seemed to indicate as existing in that quarter. 
Adverse winds delayed the voyage, during 
which Pinzon deserted him, his vessel being 
the best sailer, and set out in search of some 
region of vast wealth, to which one of the 
natives offered to guide him. On the 5th of 
December, Columbus descried land in the 
southeast, with high mountains rising from 
rich plains, and covered with lofty forests. 
This was the beautiful island of Hispaniola, 
as the Spaniards named it, from the similarity 
to the finest parts of their native land, or 
Hayti, as it is now called. Many natives 
were seen at a distance, but all fled to the 
mountains on the Spaniards landing. At 
length communication with them was estab¬ 
lished, when they were found a fairer and 
handsomer race than in the previous islands ; 
but no less mild and hospitable, and ready to 
propitiate their heavenly guests with their 
simple gifts. Columbus sailed along the 
coast, in constant admiration of the beauty of 
the country, and the mildness of the sky. 
On the 24th of December, Columbus set sail 
to visit a cacique, who had sent him some 
presents. The light winds prolonged the voy¬ 
age ; and, in the evening, the admiral retired 
to rest, supposing there was no danger. But 
no sooner had he left the deck than the steers¬ 
man gave the helm in charge to a boy, and 
with his comrades of the watch lay down to 
sleep. The ship was borne aside by the 
currents, and struck on a bank over which the 
waves were breaking with much fury. Co¬ 
lumbus was first on deck, and ordered the 
master and sailors to carry out an anchor to 
warp the vessel off; but instead of obeying, 
they rowed away to the other caravel, leaving 
their commander in imminent peril. Here 
they were reproached for their desertion of 
their vessel, and forced to return with another 
boat, but too late to save the ship, which was 
carried more and more among the breakers. 
The crew took refuge in the other vessel: 
and next day, with the assistance of the In¬ 
dians landed all their goods. The conduct of 
the natives was admirable in the extreme, for 
nothing was amissing among treasures, in their 
opinion, of inestimable value. The cacique 
visited the admiral, and endeavored to console 
him for his misfortune ; and a trade was es¬ 
tablished with the natives, who freely bar¬ 
tered gold dust for hawk’s bells and other tri¬ 
fles. Many of the sailors charmed with the 


idle life of the natives, entreated to be allowed 
to remain on the island ; and Columbus, wil¬ 
ling to lay the foundations of a new r colony, 
complied. Pie erected a fort from the wreck 
of the caravel, receiving eager assistance from 
the natives—little drearning of the yoke they 
were preparing for themselves. The cacique 
continued to load Columbus with gifts, espe¬ 
cially gold, having soon discovered the high 
estimation which was entertained for this 
metal. In ten days, the fortress named La 
Navidad, or the Nativity, in memorial of their 
shipwreck on Christmas-day, was completed, 
and thirty-nine men chosen to remain. Co¬ 
lumbus charged them to maintain friendly re¬ 
lations with the natives—to keep united in 
large parties—and to endeavor to obtain a 
knowledge of the mines which he had heard 
existed in the island. On the 2d of Februa¬ 
ry, 1493, he paid a farewell visit to the ca¬ 
cique, and exhibited a mock fight among his 
crew, to impress the natives with a due sense 
of their prowess. The thunder of the artil¬ 
lery, and the destruction which the stone balls 
produced in the forests, struck them mute 
with awe and admiration. 

On the 4th of January, Columbus sailed on 
his return to Spain, and in a few days met 
the Pinta, whose commander endeavored to 
excuse his desertion as involuntary. The 
admiral listened with silent incredulity, not 
wishing to give rise to any altercation, * Pin¬ 
zon had been for some time in Hispaniola, 
where he had collected much gold, and shared 
it with his crew to insure their silence. They 
now sailed along the coast, where fresh proofs 
of Pinzon’s duplicity appeared, which the 
admiral wisely left unnoticed. Some days 
after they reached the gulf of Semana, whose 
shores were inhabited by a bolder and more 
warlike race. In a quarrel several of them 
were slain, the first blood shed by Europeans 
in the Western World ; but Columbus gained 
the friendship of the chief. Some of the In¬ 
dians offered to guide him to a large island in¬ 
habited by the Caribs, and he set sail for it; 
but a favorable wind from the west having 
sprung up, he bore away direct for Spain, 
dreading the mutinous temper of his crew, 
and anxious to secure the discoveries he had 
already made. 

The favorable wind soon died away, and 
they experienced much opposition from the 
trades, till they got so far north as to be be¬ 
yond the region where they prevail. The 
pilots had lost all knowledge of the ship’s 
course, and thought themselves much nearer 
Spain than they truly were. Columbus did 
not undeceive them, though aware of their 
real position. On the 13th of February, they 
were involved in a hurricane, which continued 
with great fury for several days. They now 








CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


separated in tlic night from the Pinta, and 
lots were cast to decide which of the crew 
should go on pilgrimages if their lives were 
saved, two of these falling on the admiral. 
To secure, at least, a chance of preservation 
to his discoveries, he wrote an account on 
parchment, which he enclosed in a wax-cloth, 
addressed to the king, with a promise of a re¬ 
ward of a thousand ducats should it be deliv¬ 
ered unopened. He then placed it in the 
centre of a cake of wax, and enclosing the 
whole in a large barrel, committed it to the 
sea. On the 15th land was descried; but 
two days elapsed before they could reach it, 
when it proved, as Columbus had affirmed, 
one of the Azores, named St. Mary’s, be¬ 
longing to the Portuguese. 

Columbus sent some of his men on shore, 
who brought back a friendly message from the 
governor. Next day, however, when half 
the crew went on shore to perform a vow 
made during the storm, the Portuguese de¬ 
tained them, and another storm arising, the 
admiral had to put out to sea in great danger 
with his crazy, half-manned bark. He re¬ 
turned in two days, when his men were re¬ 
stored, and informed him that the governor 
had acted by orders from the king of Portu¬ 
gal, who had charged all the governors of dis¬ 
tant islands and ports to seize and detain him. 
Columbus having taken in wood and water, 
set sail for Spain, but new storms arose, which 
shattered his vessels so much that, notwith¬ 
standing his well-founded dread of the Por¬ 
tuguese, Columbus was glad to run into the 
Tagus, where he anchored on the 4th of 
March. He sent off* a messenger to the king 
of Spain with the news of his arrival, and 
another to the court of Portugal, requesting 
liberty to take his vessel up to Lisbon. In 
this city the account of his discoveries excited 
an extraordinary sensation, and Columbus was 
soon after invited to the court. This he would 
willingly have declined, but the tempestuous 
weather would not allow him to put out to 
sea, and he was obliged to comply. He was 
received with much magnificence, but the 
king was evidently greatly mortified by the 
thought that this splendid enterprise had been 
formerly refused when offered to himself. He 
consulted his counsellors on the subject, some 
of whom even suggested that Columbus should 
be assassinated, as trying to embroil the two 
nations by pretended discoveries, but the king 
had sufficient honor to reject this expedient, 
while he resolved to fit out a private arma¬ 
ment, and take possession of the new coun¬ 
try. Columbus was allowed to depart, and 
reached Palos on the 15th of March, which 
place he had left on the 3d of August, the 
previous year. It has often been remarked, 
that had he encountered half the difficulties 


353 


and storms on his outward voyage which as¬ 
sailed him on his return, he would inevitably 
have been compelled to desist, and this great 
discovery have been deferred to an indefinite 
period. 

At Palos, Columbus was received with 
shouts of joy, and his passage along the 
streets resembled a triumphal procession. 
The same evening, Pinzon, who had also es¬ 
caped the tempest and touched at the port of 
Bayonne, whence he had sent a letter to the 
court, with the news of his discovery, also 
entered the harbor. When he heard of the 
enthusiastic reception of Columbus, his heart 
sunk within him, all his treachery and evil 
conduct rose before him, and, dreading to 
meet his injured commander, he repaired pri¬ 
vately to his dwelling, downcast and broken 
in health. A severe and reproachful reply 
to his letter to the king increased his dejec¬ 
tion, and in a few days after he died of envy 
and remorse. As Washington Irving beauti¬ 
fully observes, “ his story shows how one 
lapse from duty may counterbalance the mer¬ 
its of a thousand services ; how one moment 
of weakness may mar the beauty of a whole 
life of virtue ; and how important a matter it 
is for a man, under all circumstances, to be 
true, not merely to others, but to himself.” 

The Spanish court was now at Barcelona, 
and Columbus, while waiting orders, repaired 
to Seville. Here he received a letter request¬ 
ing his immediate presence at court, and de¬ 
siring him to make arrangements for a second 
voyage, as the summer was now at hand. 
Having complied as far as possible with the 
latter request, he set out for the court, taking 
with him six Indians and several curiosities 
he had brought home. His road was crowd¬ 
ed with joyful and wondering multitudes, and 
he entered Barcelona in a procession that has 
been compared to a Roman triumph. He 
was received by the king and queen in great 
state, and when he knelt down they raised 
him up, and ordered him to sit in their pres¬ 
ence—a mark of rare honor in that ceremo¬ 
nious court. He was then requested to give 
an account of his voyage, at the conclusion 
of which the whole assembly sank on their 
knees, giving thanks to God for the discovery 
of a new world, and the anthem of r Fe Deum 
was sung. Columbus was for the moment 
the object of universal curiosity, applause, and 
admiration. Nor was this feeling confined to 
Spain, but responded to with general exul¬ 
tation over the whole civilized world of Eu¬ 
rope. As yet the sudden splendor of his dis¬ 
covery overpowered all feelings save those of 
jov and exultation. i 

"The Spanish sovereigns took every meas¬ 
ure fitted to secure possession of their new . 
discoveries. An envoy was sent to the pope, 


23 


i 






CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


354 


who granted a bull ceding to them all the 
rights, privileges, and indulgences, which had 
formerly been accorded to the Portuguese in 
their African discoveries, on the same condi¬ 
tion of planting and propagating the catholic 
faith. Another bull was issued on the fol¬ 
lowing day, containing the famous line of de¬ 
marcation between the territories of the rival 
monarchs, by a line from pole to pole, pass¬ 
ing a hundred leagues west of the Azores. 
This has been frequently quoted as a proof 
of his holiness’ ignorance of the true form of 
the earth, but perhaps only shows that he 
did not anticipate the possibility of the cir¬ 
cumnavigation of the globe. The negotia¬ 
tions with the court of Portugal were more 
difficult and tedious, each of the princes en¬ 
deavoring to deceive and outwit his rival. 
After repeated embassies, the matter was, 
however, arranged on the 7th June, 1494, the 
papal line of partition being moved three hun¬ 
dred and seventy leagues west of the Cape 
Verd islands, and the territory on the west 
assigned to Spain, that on the east to Portu¬ 
gal. Meantime, Columbus was hurrying on 
his second expedition, afraid that the Portu¬ 
guese should anticipate him by a secret at¬ 
tempt. To aid him, a board was appointed 
under Juan de Fonseca, archdeacon of Se¬ 
ville, and afterward patriarch of the Indies. 
Fonseca is represented as a worldly man, of 
a vindictive disposition, to gratify which he 
did not hesitate to sacrifice the interests of his 
master. He soon conceived a most rancorous 
hostility to Columbus, which occasioned him 
many vexations and delays, and proved highly 
injurious to the interests of their common 
master. 

A fleet of seventeen vessels was soon ready 
at Seville, containing many skilful mechanics 
and miners, and loaded with horses, domestic 
cattle, grain, sugarcanes, and other plants. 
The number of persons had been limited to 
a thousand, but such was the eagerness of 
volunteers, that fifteen hundred eventually 
sailed, eager to engage in the new field of ad¬ 
venture, and reap a portion of its golden 
fruits. All the titles and privileges promised 
to Columbus were confirmed, and his powers 
in the new world even extended. Under such 
altered circumstances did the admiral leave 
Cadiz on the 25th of September, on his second 
voyage to the Indies ; his companions, no 
longer forced on board like condemned crimi¬ 
nals devoted to sure destruction, but glad and 
rejoicing in their good fortune in being j>er- 
mitted to join the glorious enterprise. On 
the 5th of October, the fleet anchored at Go- 
mera, one of the Canaries, and increased their 
live stock by various purchases, among which 
Las Casas mentions eight hogs, the fertile 
parents of the innumerable multitude of swine 


dispersed through the Spanish colonies. After 
being becalmed for some days among the Ca¬ 
naries, Columbus kept further south, and thus 
out of the region of seaweeds, which bad so 
much encouraged his sailors on their former 
voyage. The tradewinds again bore them 
gently along, till the end of October, when 
they were awestruck by one of those tremen¬ 
dous thunder-storms common in the tropics. 
The electrical fluid, adhering with lambent 
flames to the top of the masts, revived their 
spirits, as the sailors, according to an old su¬ 
perstition, thought it was St. Elmo with seven 
lighted tapers—a sure proof that no danger 
would befall them. On the 2d of November, 
Columbus thought he saw signs of land, and 
early next morning a lofty island appeared, to 
which he gave the name of Dominica, as it 
was discovered on a Sunday. This event 
was celebrated by loud anthems of praise and 
thanks to God for guiding them in safety over 
the mighty ocean. 

Columbus had reached the Antilles, a beau¬ 
tiful group of small islands shutting in the 
Caribbean sea. After touching cm one island 
which was uninhabited, they landed on an¬ 
other, named Guadaloupe, with a lofty mount¬ 
ain, from which streams of water broken into 
white foam descended. The natives had all 
fled, but their tents contained articles of earth¬ 
enware, bows and arrows, plenty of provis¬ 
ions, domesticated geese, and beautiful parrots. 
Numerous human bones and skulls, appa¬ 
rently used as vases, filled the Spaniards with 
horror, and some women whom they took cap¬ 
tive on the following day, informed them that 
the natives, whom they named Caribs, were 
in the habit of killing and eating their prison¬ 
ers. The captain of one of the ships, with 
eight men, had lost themselves in the woods, 
and Columbus entertained great apprehen¬ 
sions that they had fallen victims to the sava¬ 
ges. Fortunately, however, the Carib war¬ 
riors were all absent on some predatory expe¬ 
dition, and the stragglers returned just when 
the fleet was about to sail without them. 
Columbus proceeded to the northwest, being 
anxious to learn the fate of the colony left at 
Hispaniola, passing many islands on his way. 
At Santa Cruz a boat was sent on shore for 
water, and on its return intercepted a canoe 
with a few Indians, who came suddenly ronnd 
a point of land between it and the ship." After 
a desperate resistance, in which one of the 
Indians was killed, and their canoe destroyed, 
the others were captured and brought on 
hoard the ship, where their fierce untamed 
demeanor, so unlike the gentle manners of the 
natives of Hispaniola, struck the Spaniards 
with astonishment. They passed many other 
islands, among them Porto Rico, where they 
landed, but saw none of the natives, who 









CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


35 5 


were always at war with the Caribs. The 
latter people, said to have spread from the 
Appalachian mountains over the whole chain 
of the West India islands, and thence even to 
the mainland of Brazil, were the scourge of 
the more peaceable and unwarlike tribes, 
though the reports of their cannibalism were 
probably false or greatly exaggerated. 

On the 22d of November the fleet reached 
the eastern point of Hispaniola, and the ad¬ 
miral hoped soon to arrive at the fort where 
he had left his followers on the former voy¬ 
age. On passing the gulf of Samana, the 
scene of his former combat with the natives, 
a young Indian, who had accompanied him to 
Spain, was set on shore, as a messenger of 
peace to his countrymen. No account was 
ever received of him afterward, and he was 
not improbably sacrificed to their avarice or 
jealousy. On the evening of the 25th the 
fleet reached La Navidad, but it was already 
too dark to approach the coast or discern the 
fort. Two guns were fired as a signal to 
their comrades, but no answer was returned, 
no sign of life was to be seen on the coast. A 
canoe soon after appeared, and the Indians, on 
seeing Columbus, catne on board. They told 
him that some of the Spaniards left in the 
fort had died of sickness, that others had been 
killed in quarrels among themselves^ and the 
remainder had removed to another part of the 
island. Next day none of the natives ap¬ 
peared, and on landing, a burned and black¬ 
ened ruin alone marked where the fort had 
stood. Continuing their researches, they next 
discovered a grave containing eleven bodies, 
which proved to be those of Europeans, At 
last some Indians were met with, from whom 
the fate of the garrison was ascertained. The 
Spaniards were hardly relieved from the au¬ 
thority of the admiral, than they began to 
abuse the poor natives, robbing them of their 
property and seducing their wives and daugh¬ 
ters. Then they quarrelled among them¬ 
selves, disobeyed the orders of their com¬ 
mander, and dispersed themselves over the 
country. Eleven of them set out for the do¬ 
minions of Caonabo, a warlike chief of Carib 
origin, who ruled over the gold mountains in 
the interior, where they expected to find im¬ 
mense wealth. They were seized immedi¬ 
ately on entering his dominions and put to 
death, and Caonabo resolved to rid the island 
of the strangers. He made a descent on the 
fort, and attacking it during the night, had 
full possession before the few men remaining 
in it were aware of their danger. The whole 
of the Spaniards were slain, and the village 
of the neighboring Indians, who attempted to 
defend them, burned to the ground. The his¬ 
tory of this first European settlement is an 
epitome of many that have followed—of the 


base vices and lawless abuse of their superior 
power, by men boasting of their civilization 
-—of the fierce revenge of the savage, his mo¬ 
mentary success, his final destruction. 

The cacique or chief of the Indians soon 
after sent a message excusing his absence, 
and stating that he was confined to his tent 
by a wound received in defence of the Span¬ 
iards. Columbus visited him, when he rela¬ 
ted the misfortune of the garrison, with tears 
in his eyes, and convinced the admiral of his 
good faith, though some of his followers were 
of a different opinion. The cacique after¬ 
ward visited the ships, where he was lost in 
astonishment amid the new and unknown ob¬ 
jects that he beheld. The horses especially, 
their great size, their apparent fierceness yet 
perfect docility, filled with amazement men 
who knew only the most diminutive quadru¬ 
peds. The females rescued from the Caribs 
were also a special object of attention, in par¬ 
ticular one distinguished by her lofty air and 
manner, with whom the cacique conversed 
repeatedly. After a repast the chief begged 
permission to return on shore, perhaps feeling 
uneasy at the dark suspicious looks of the 
Spaniards, some of whom advised Columbus 
to retain him prisoner. Next day the brother 
of the chief came on board and conversed for 
some time with the women. He was proba¬ 
bly concerting their escape, as in the night 
they all slipped overboard, and, though heard 
and pursued, swam to the land, three miles 
distant, and escaped. Next day, when Co¬ 
lumbus sent on shore to reclaim them, he 
found the village deserted and the natives fled 
into the interior. Columbus left this place, 
where there was now no inducement to re¬ 
main, as the locality seemed unhealthy and 
unfit for a permanent settlement. When 
looking for a situation adapted for this pur¬ 
pose, he was driven by adverse weather into 
a harbor, and being pleased with its appear¬ 
ance, and hearing that the mountains of Cibao, 
containing gold mines, were at no great dis¬ 
tance, lie resolved to found a city, named Isa¬ 
bella from his royal patroness. A plan was 
formed, and preparations begun, when disease 
broke out among the Spaniards, already suf- ! 
fering from their long confinement on ship¬ 
board, and unaccustomed to the climate of the 
tropics. Disappointment, too, increased their 
maladies, when their golden dreams melted 
away, and the necessity of hard labor ap¬ 
peared. Even Columbus suffered from ex¬ 
posure to the climate and the numerous anxi¬ 
eties in which he was involved. Still, though 
confined to his bed, he continued to direct the 
affairs of the expedition and the building of 
the town. The ships had now discharged 
their cargoes, and were soon to return to 
Spain, but no merchandise was provided, and 











CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS 


356 


no treasure even ascertained to exist. The 
golden mountains were, however, at no great 
distance, and Don Alonzo de Ojeda, one of 
the most adventurous of his followers, set out 
with a party to explore them. They found 
the natives friendly, the sands of the mount¬ 
ain streams glistened with particles of gold, 
and fragments weighing several ounces were 
collected. With these glad tidings he re¬ 
turned to the admiral, who now sent home 
twelve ships, retaining five for further dis¬ 
coveries. As yet Columbus had only prom¬ 
ises of wealth to give in return for the supplies 
he requested to be transmitted from Spain. 
Till articles of more value could be procured, 
Columbus proposed sending home Carib slaves 
in return for live-stock, but Isabella refused 
her consent to this inhuman project. Though 
no wealth was brought back by the fleet, still 
the reports of the gold mines prevented that 
disappointment whose effects the admiral so 
justly dreaded. 

On recovering from his illness, Columbus 
was about to set out to explore the interior, 
when he discovered a plot among a portion of 
his followers to seize the ships and return to 
Spain, where they hoped to find forgiveness 
by accusing their chief of deception. The 
ringleaders were arrested, the chief, Bernal 
Diaz, confined, in order to be sent to Spain 
for trial, and some others punished less se¬ 
verely than they deserved. This act of au¬ 
thority formed a new ground of offence, and 
excited the national feelings of the Span¬ 
iards against the foreigner, as they regarded 
Columbus. On the 12th of March, how¬ 
ever, he set out for the interior, with about 
four hundred men, leaving the command of 
the town and fleet to his brother Diego, a 
man of an easy and facile disposition. On 
reaching the summit of the first range of 
mountains, the Spaniards were lost in admi¬ 
ration of the beautiful plain, which extended 
like an earthly paradise before them. Through 
this region, which he named the Vega Real 
or Royal plain, Columbus continued his march, 
being everywhere hospitably received by the 
Indians, when their first terror at the strange 
spectacle was overcome. On the second day 
he reached another chain of mountains, higher 
and more rugged, but as they were now in 
the golden region, Columbus, before penetra¬ 
ting further, resolved to erect a fort and com¬ 
mence to work the mines which he believed 
to exist. The fort, named St. Thomas, was 
built on an eminence, protected by a small 
river. Here he left fifty-six men, and set out 
on his return to the coast, halting some time, 
however, in the Indian villages on the way. 
He thus acquired more knowledge of the 
manners of the natives, some of whose cus¬ 
toms and opinions are very curious. He at 


first regarded them as atheists, but soon found 
that, besides a belief in one supreme deity, 
they had also many inferior gods, some the 
peculiar guardians of each tribe, others allot¬ 
ted to watch over every special department of 
nature. They had also priests or magicians ; 
and some imperfect notions of the creation of 
the world and universal deluge. They be¬ 
lieved that mankind originally came out of a 
certain cave; large men from a large hole, 
and the small men from a small one ; and that 
they had no women among them at first, but 
at last found them among the branches of a 
forest near a small lake. The ladies were, 
however, as slippery as eels, so that the men 
could not for a long time catch any of them ; 
till some whose hands were rough with a kind 
of leprosy, succeeded in securing four of these 
slippery females. The natives appeared an 
idle, careless race, living chiefly on the spon¬ 
taneous produce of their woods and rivers. 

On reaching Isabella, Columbus found the 
sickness continuing, the stores of provisions 
almost consumed, and discontent and disap¬ 
pointment very prevalent. The last were 
greatly increased when he required the cava¬ 
liers to aid in erecting certain public works of 
immediate necessity, the proud hidalgos con¬ 
sidering all labor as a degradation. These 
circumstances greatly embarrassed Columbus, 
who was desirous of proceeding on another 
voyage of discovery. He therefore sent all 
the persons who could be spared into the in¬ 
terior, under the command of Pedro Marga- 
rite, with orders to explore the country. He 
gave strict charges to treat the Indians with 
kindness, justice, and caution ; to respect their 
property and persons, except Caonabo, the 
Carib chief, whom they were to seize by 
stratagem. An incident that now occurred 
convinced him that there was little to fear 
from the natives. A horseman, returning from 
the interior, found five of his countrymen cap¬ 
tive among a crowd of Indians. Though 
more than four hundred in number, the sight 
of his horse put them all to flight, and he 
brought off his friends in triumph. Leaving 
his brother Diego governor in his absence, 
Columbus sailed in the three smallest vessels 
in search of new lands. 

He first proceeded west, and in five days 
came in sight of the east end of Cuba. He 
coasted along it for a short way, but learning 
from the natives that a country rich in gold 
was to be found in the south, he turned 
in that direction. The blue summits of Ja¬ 
maica soon rose above the horizon, and on 
drawing near land they were met by a fleet 
ol seventy canoes full of gayly-painted sava¬ 
ges, decorated with feathers, and brandishing 
their wooden lances with loud yells. A few 
presents pacified this angry armada; but next 










CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


day, when he entered a harbor to careen his 
ship, he found the whole beach covered with 
hostile Indians. Wishing to inspire them 
with terror, in order to prevent all future mo¬ 
lestation, the admiral caused some boats to 
row close to the shore ; the Spaniards let fly 
a volley of arrows from their cross-bows, and 
then springing to the land pursued the multi¬ 
tude. A fierce dog was then let loose on the 
Indians, the first instance of the employment 
of these animals against the natives. Sub¬ 
sequently, intercourse was established with 
the Indians, who were more warlike and in¬ 
genious than those of Hayti, and possessed 
larger canoes. These were hollowed from a 
single tree, and one of them measured ninety- 
six feet long by eight broad. After a few 
days, Columbus, finding no signs of gold, re¬ 
turned to Cuba. Here he was involved among 
a vast multitude of small islands, which ren¬ 
dered navigation very dangerous and difficult. 
He, however, named them the Queen’s gar¬ 
dens, from the verdure with which they as it 
were covered the surface of the sea. Some 
of these islands were inhabited, and Colum¬ 
bus was much amused by a method the na¬ 
tives employed in fishing. They attached a 
long line to the tail of a small fish with a flat 
head furnished with numerous suckers. They 
allowed it to swim about, when it generally 
kept near the surface, but on perceiving a large 
fish, would dart on it, and fixing itself firmly 
by its suckers, would retain its hold till both 
were drawn out of the water. Besides fish, 
the Spaniards saw large tortoises caught in 
this way, which it appears is also practised 
on the east coast of Africa. Columbus con¬ 
tinued his voyage along the southern shore of 
the island, which he believed to form part of 
the Asiatic continent. In this navigation he 
encountered many difficulties from the nu¬ 
merous sandbanks and keys or small islands. 
At last, being fully convinced that he had 
reached a continent, and fearing the exhaus¬ 
tion of his provisions, and the shattered con¬ 
dition of his vessels, he determined to return. 
After getting free of the small islands, he cast 
anchor at the mouth of a river in order to re¬ 
fresh his men, harassed by their long voyage 
and anxieties. From this place he intended 
to return direct to Hispaniola, but was forced 
by contrary winds to the coast of Jamaica, 
along which he sailed, having frequent inter¬ 
course with the natives. Thence he reached the 
shores of Hispaniola, where he was soon rec¬ 
ognised by some of the natives, among whom 
his fame was widely spread. After sailing 
along its southern side, he came to a region 
already explored, but intended to continue his 
researches further east among the Caribbean 
islands. The hardships, exertions, and anxie¬ 
ties, of his five months’ voyage, had, howev¬ 


357 


er, exhausted his mental and bodily powers; 
he was struck with a sudden malady which 
deprived him of memory, sight, and all his 
faculties, and the crew, alarmed at the deep 
lethargy of the admiral, abandoned all thought 
of prosecuting the voyage, and bore away di¬ 
rect for the harbor of Isabella. Here Colum¬ 
bus rejoiced to meet his brother Bartholomew, 
who had arrived from Spain with supplies, 
but found the affairs of the island fallen into 
the utmost confusion during his absence. 

Columbus, before departing on his voyage, 
had, as we mentioned, given the command of 
his troops to Margarite, with orders to explore 
the island. Instead of obeying these orders, 
Margarite quartered himseif and his follow¬ 
ers among the natives of the Vega, whom he 
oppressed and abused in all possible ways. 
To the remonstrances of the council and Di¬ 
ego Columbus, he paid no attention, but at 
last, fearing the investigation of his conduct 
on the return of the admiral, he resolved, with 
his associates, to seize some of the ships and 
return to Spain. He was joined in this 
scheme by Friar Boyle, to whom the religious 
superintendence of the colony had been com¬ 
mitted. Deserting their posts, they had 
sailed for Spain, leaving the army without a 
head and without discipline. The men be¬ 
came bolder in their abuse of the natives, till 
the latter, roused to resentment, began to take 
secret vengeance on their oppressors. Scat¬ 
tered parties and individuals were put to 
death, and success in these attempts led to 
bolder undertakings. Caonabo resolved to at¬ 
tack the fortress, built without permission on 
his territories, and now garrisoned by only 
fifty men. They were commanded by Alonzo 
de Ojeda, who to great natural bravery, added 
much military skill, acquired in the Moorish 
wars. Caonabo assembled ten thousand war¬ 
riors, but found his adversary on his guard, 
and being unable to force so strong a fortress, 
endeavored to reduce it by famine. After a 
thirty days’ siege, in which many of the In¬ 
dians perished, he was obliged to withdraw, 
but meditated an attack on the town, weak¬ 
ened by the dispersion of the troops and the 
sickness of those who remained. He made 
a league for this purpose, with three other 
chiefs, but Guacanagari, the first friend of the 
Spaniards, whose dominions were nearest the 
town, remained faithful to them, and delayed 
the attempt. He thus brought on himself the 
hostility of the confederates, who plundered 
his country and killed many of his subjects. 
Columbus took various measures to quiet the 
island, punishing some of the chiefs, and gain¬ 
ing others by conciliatory treatment. From 
his most dangerous enemy Caonabo, he was 
freed by a daring stratagem of Ojeda, who 
with ten horsemen ventured into the camp of 













CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


358 


the chief on a pretended friendly mission, and 
having by false representations induced the 
simple Indian to mount behind him, and suf¬ 
fer himself to be adorned with polished shack¬ 
les, bore him off in triumph from among his 
astonished warriors. This deceit, however 
contrary to our feelings, seems to have been 
viewed in a different light by its victim, -who, 
when a captive, always showed the highest 
respect for Ojeda, while he proudly refused 
all marks of deference for Columbus, though 
well aware of his superior rank. Another 
important event for the colony was the arrival 
of Antonio Torres, with four ships loaded with 
provisions, and accompanied with many work¬ 
men and mechanics. The despatches from 
court were still favorable ; insidious enemies 
having not as yet poisoned the ear of the prin¬ 
ces against Columbus. The admiral hastened 
the return of Torres, sending with him his 
brother Diego to support his interests at court, 
and to give his advice in settling the bounda¬ 
ries of their respective discoveries with Por¬ 
tugal. In the fleet was sent not only all the 
gold and other precious metals which he could 
procure, but also above five hundred Indian 
prisoners, whom he recommended to be sold 
as slaves at Seville. Thus early was begun 
that accursed trade in human flesh, which 
has produced more misfortune to mankind, 
than all the wars from that time to the pres¬ 
ent ; and which is no less disgraceful to hu¬ 
manity, than the cannibalism of the savages, 
for which the Spaniards express such horror. 

One of Caonabo’s brothers, attempting to 
revenge his captivity, had been defeated by 
Ojeda, but this did not prevent the other 
chiefs from collecting their forces for his res¬ 
cue. Columbus learning from the friendly 
Indians that they had assembled in the Vega, 
marched out to meet them, though his whole 
army only amounted to two hundred infantry, 
twenty horse, and the same number of blood¬ 
hounds, not the least dangerous opponents to 
the naked Indians. A battle, or rather mas¬ 
sacre, took place in the Vega; the natives, 
who had trusted to their numbers, being at 
once dispersed by the fire of the infantry, and 
then cut down by the cavalry, or hunted like 
w'ild beasts by the savage dogs. Columbus 
followed up his victory, by subduing almost 
the whole island, and imposing a tax of a cer¬ 
tain quantity of gold dust, or, where this was 
not produced, of cotton, on each of the na¬ 
tives. The chiefs remonstrated against this 
grievous burden, but in vain. Their people, 
seeing no hope of relief, deserted their fields, 
and retired to the mountains, hoping that fam¬ 
ine might drive away their persecutors. But 
this only increased their severities, and after 
a large part of the Indians had perished by 
want and violence, the remainder returned to 


linger under the yoke of slavery. Even the 
friendly Guacanagari, and his people were 
'subjected to the same impositions and cruel¬ 
ties, till the chief, unable to endure the re¬ 
proaches of his miserable subjects, retired to 
the mountains, and died in poverty—a victim 
to the strangers whom his hospitality had more 
than once preserved from destruction. 

The malcontents who had returned to Spain, 
were not wholly unsuccessful in prejudicing 
the sovereigns against Columlnus, who, as a 
foreigner, had no influence to support him at 
court. Even the arrival of Torres, with news 
of the discoveries made in the recent voyage, 
and the specimens of gold which he brought, 
did not restore Columbus to his former favor. 
Juan Aguado, was sent as a commissioner to 
investigate the affairs of the island, and though 
formerly highly indebted to Columbus, soon 
became his bitterest foe. On arriving at Is¬ 
abella, he found the admiral absent in the 
interior, and immediately assumed high au¬ 
thority to himself and interfered in all pub¬ 
lic affairs. When the admiral returned from 
the interior, he received Aguado with all the 
courtesy due to the royal messenger; and 
when his inquiries were finished, intimated 
his intention of returning with him to Spain. 
Their departure was delayed by a tremendous 
hurricane, which swept over the island with 
such awful fury, that even the Indians thought 
it a divine jndgment on the crimes and cruel¬ 
ties of the white men. It destroyed all the 
vessels in the harbor except one, left in a very 
shattered condition. While the vessels were 
repairing, Columbus received news of great 
importance. A Spaniard, Miguel Diaz, in 
the service of his brother Bartholomew, had 
wounded one of his comrades dangerously in 
a quarrel, and fearing the consequences, had 
fled to the south side of the island. Here he 
had won the heart of a female cacique, and 
lived with her some time very happily. But 
at length he became desirous of returning to 
bis friends, and fell into deep melancholy. 
His Indian bride learning the cause, and de¬ 
sirous of drawing the Spaniards to her part 
of the island, that he might not thus he in¬ 
duced to abandon her, informed him that there 
were rich mines in the neighborhood. Diaz, 
having ascertained the truth of the report, 
returned to his master, who was easily recon¬ 
ciled to him, and set out personally to inves¬ 
tigate the mines. He found them as rich as 
was reported, and deep pits near them, as if 
dug in former times, which gave rise to a 
curious conjecture of Columbus, that he had 
now discovered the ancient Ophirof Solomon. 
The hidings were indeed highly grateful to 
the admiral, both as decisive proofs of the 
wealth of the island, thus silencing the cavils 
of his enemies, and as an excuse for removing 








CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


359 


tile colony from its unhealthy situation. 
D niz was pardoned, and employed in various 
duties, all of which he discharged with fidel¬ 
ity. He also kept faith with his Indian 
spouse, who seems to have become a Chris¬ 
tian, and to have been baptized. 

On the 10th of March, 1496, Columbus 
sailed for Spain, along with Aguado. Keep¬ 
ing too far south, within the tradewinds, his 
passage was long and tedious, so that he had 
to touch at Guadaloupe for provisions. The 
shores were only defended by the women, 
some of whom they took prisoners, but again 
set free before their departure. One heroine, 
however, refused her liberty, and chose rath¬ 
er to accompany Caonabo, whom Columbus 
was taking with him to Spain. But the Ca- 
rib chief was destined never to arrive there ; 
his proud heart was broken by his misfortunes, 
and he died on the voyage. During this voy¬ 
age, the Spaniards were reduced to great ex¬ 
tremity, some even proposing to kill and eat 
their Indian prisoners. On the 11th of June, 
Columbus at last reached Cadiz, after a weary 
passage of three months. His hopes and re¬ 
ception were very different from what they 
had been on his former return, three years 
before; and the miserable emaciated figures 
of his sickly companions, and their yellow 
countenances—a mockery, says an old writer, 
of that gold they had gone to seek—was no 
unfit emblem of the public disappointment. 
He however, received a friendly letter from 
the court, and on his arrival there met with a 
kind reception ; his great merits not being yet 
wholly forgotten. He proposed to undertake 
a new voyage of discovery, which was read¬ 
ily agreed to ; but numerous delays were des¬ 
tined to intervene before its accomplishment. 
Affairs of more immediate necessity demand¬ 
ed all the care and resources of the king, 
while envious councillors insinuated to him 
the great cost and small profit of the boasted 
discoveries. At length the influence of the 
queen procured certain measures favorable to 
Columbus, and adapted to promote the pros¬ 
perity of the colony ; but the management of 
Indian affairs was committed to his cold¬ 
blooded enemy, Fonseca, who persecuted him 
and embarrassed his proceedings by the mean¬ 
est and most despicable artifices. “ Absent, 
envied, and a stranger,” as he said in a letter 
to the king, every one was against him, and 
it w r as only his gratitude to the queen that in¬ 
duced him to persevere. 

At length, on the 30th of May, 1498, Co¬ 
lumbus sailed with six vessels on his third 
vovage to the New World. He proceeded 
south to the Cape Verd islands. Thence he 
continued southwest, till his ship was involved 
in the region of the “ calms,” near the equa¬ 
tor. Here the wind fell, and a dead, sultry 


air, as from a furnace, hung over the ships, 
wasting their stores, and destroying the health 
and spirits of the men. He then altered his 
course more to the west, and reached land 
with his provisions nearly exhausted, and only 
one cask of water remaining in each ship. 
It was the island of Trinidad, which Colum¬ 
bus named from a vow he made to consecrate 
the first land he should reach to the Trinity. 
He coasted along the southern shore of the 
island, and was surprised at its fertility, at 
the coolness of the air, and the fair complex¬ 
ion of the natives—all so unlike the tropical 
character of Africa. He was now sailing in 
the strait between Trinidad and the mainland, 
on some parts of which he touched in the 
gulf of Paria, but without knowing that it 
was in reality the continent he had so long 
sought. The strings of pearls worn by the 
natives highly interested him as a new source 
of wealth, and a confirmation of his theories. 
His time, however, would not permit of fur¬ 
ther researches, so, retracing his way, he 
sailed through the narrow passage between 
Trinidad and Cape Boto in Paria, where the 
sea was raging and foaming, the currents be¬ 
ing swollen by the large mass of fresh water 
then poured into the gulf. He passed through 
it, however, in safety, and examined part of 
the north coast of Paria, when he was com¬ 
pelled to sail for Hispaniola. He reached it 
considerably north of the point he wished, 
having been carried out of his reckoning by 
the strong currents. Sending a message on 
shore to his brother, he sailed for the river 
Ozema, and was soon met by his brother Bar¬ 
tholomew, who came off’ in a caravel to meet 
him. In a letter to the sovereigns, relating 
his voyage, Columbus enters into various 
speculations—some of them wild and fanci¬ 
ful in the extreme—concerning his new dis¬ 
coveries. He however rightly conjectured 
from the quantity of fresh water flowing into 
the gulf, that it must come from some conti¬ 
nent of vast extent, which he still maintained 
to be a part of Asia. 

From his brother, who had governed the 
island under the title of Adelantado, Colum¬ 
bus received an account of the events which 
had occurred during his long absence. Bar¬ 
tholomew had proceeded to found a fort near 
the mines of Ilayna, discovered by his ser¬ 
vant, but, from want of provisions, the work 
had made slow progress. He then laid the 
foundation of San Domingo, on the harbor at 
the mouth of the Ozema river, and leaving a 
small garrison there, set out to explore the 
western region of the island. He was well 
received by the cacique of that district, who 
readily agreed to pay an annual tribute of 
cotton, alleging that no gold was produced in 
his part of the island. On returning to Isa- 












CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


360 


bella, he found nothing but misery and repi¬ 
ning. The provisions received from Europe 
were consumed, the Spaniards, intent only on 
procuring gold, would not condescend to cul¬ 
tivate the ground, and yet, by their cruelties, 
had driven the natives to the mountains. The 
Adelantado sent all the men that could be 
spared into the interior, where the climate i 
was more salubrious, and provisions in great¬ 
er abundance. He then established military 
posts to overawe the natives, whose indigna¬ 
tion was roused anew by fresh indignities. 
Two friars had labored with small success, to 
convert the Indians, who could not be per¬ 
suaded that a religion was true, whose fol¬ 
lowers perpetrated such atrocities. In one 
place, the friars had built a small chapel, 
with crucifix, images, and altar, for the use of 
a family of converts. Some other Indians 
had, however, entered the chapel, and broken 
the images. For this crime the ignorant sav¬ 
ages were tried by the ecclesiastical law, con¬ 
demned, and burnt. This cruel treatment ex¬ 
cited the indignation of all the natives, and a 
rebellion, to commence by a general massa¬ 
cre of their oppressors, was concerted. It 
was betrayed, as usual to the Spaniards ; and, 
by a successful stratagem, the Adelantado 
seized fourteen of the assembled cacif|ues, 
and carried them prisoners to a fortress. Two 
of the principal instigators of the insurrec¬ 
tion were put to death, but the others were 
released—an act of clemency which for a time 
restored tranquillity to the Vega. Bartholo¬ 
mew then set out to the western extremity of 
the island, where he received for tribute suf¬ 
ficient cotton and provisions to load a caravel. 

A new trouble arose from the machinations 
of one Francisco Roldan, who, raised from 
low rank to be chief judge of the island, now 
turned his influence against his benefactor. 
During the absence of the Adelantado, he 
excited mutiny against him among the Span¬ 
iards at Isabella, and, on his return, set out into 
the interior, where he had formed a friendship 
with the native chiefs, and hoped to seize one 
of the forts. Disappointed by the vigilance 
of the commander, he now endeavored to ob¬ 
tain possession of it by force. The Adelan¬ 
tado inarched to its relief, but distrusting the 
loyalty of his men, durst not attack Roldan. 
He had an interview with him which led to 
no result, and Roldan, taking advantage of his 
absence returned to Isabella, entered it by 
surprise, and breaking open the royal ware¬ 
house, supplied himself and his followers with 
arms and clothing. He then returned to the 
Vega, endeavoring to seduce the followers of 
the Adelantado from their allegiance. Not 
succeeding in this, he again endeavored to 
stir up the natives to a revolt, and continued to 
sow discontent among the Spaniards. The 


whole island was reduced to a state of anarchy, 
when two vessels arrived at San Domingo, in 
February, J 498, with supplies of provisions, 
troops, and what was of more importance, a 
royal confirmation of the authority of the 
Adelantado. Roldan had however, gone too 
far to hope for pardon, and feeling too -weak 
for resistance, retired toward the west end of 
the island. The Indians in the Vega, seduced 
by lys machinations, had taken up arms, but 
being defeated by the Spaniards, their chief 
fled to the mountains of Ciguay, where he 
found shelter with a brother cacique. Thither 
he was followed by the Adelantado, who, not¬ 
withstanding the difficulties of a mountain 
warfare, with savage foes, soon dispersed the 
Indians, and captured both the chiefs, who 
had sought shelter in the recesses of the 
mountains. Such was the state of the island 
when Columbus returned thither from Spain, 
and such the immediate results of that unwise 
policy, which the Spanish monarchs instiga¬ 
ted by his private enemies, pursued toward 
him. The productiveness of the colony was 
ruined; discontent, disloyalty, and crime, fo¬ 
mented among the white settlers, and the 
poor Indians led into rebellions, in which they 
either perished miserably by the sword and 
famine, or were reduced to a state of cruel 
slavery, to which death in almost any form 
was preferable. 

Such was the condition of affairs in His¬ 
paniola, when Columbus returned from Spain. 
Instead of the paradise which it seemed when 
the white men first set foot on its soil, it had 
become the abode of war, and sedition, of 
strife, famine, and pestilence. The native 
population was melting away before the bale¬ 
ful presence of the stranger; and their once 
hospitable towns were desolate and silent. 
The Spaniards, too, -were now reaping the 
fruit of their crimes; vice had produced dis¬ 
ease ; indolence, poverty; while cruelty and 
oppression had turned the once friendly In¬ 
dians into deadly foes, and the thickly-peopled 
country into a lonely wilderness. 

Columbus endeavored to restore matters so 
far as it was still possible. He denounced 
Roldan as a rebel, but at the same time, of¬ 
fered him pardon on immediate submission. 
Roldan had, however, strengthened his party, 
by the accession of many criminals who had 
been sent from Spain at the same time as Co¬ 
lumbus, but had arrived in the island before 
him, and now refused to submit. Columbus, 
surrounded by treachery and disaffection, was 
too weak to enforce compliance, and could on¬ 
ly write home an account of the rebellion, and 
ask further aid. After various negotiations, 
an agreement was made with the rebels, by 
which they were to return within a limited 
time to Spain ; and the admiral set out to in- 














CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 361 


spect the island. Circumstances delayed the 
fitting out of the ships, and Columbus soon 
learned that new seditions had broken out 
among the rebels, who refused to leave the is¬ 
land. A cold letter from the court added to 
his perplexities, as it showed the power of 
his enemies there, and how little trust he 
could put in the royal favor. He had thus to 
comply with all the demands of the muti¬ 
neers, and enter into a new arrangement, re¬ 
instating Roldan in his office of chief judge, 
giving grants of land to some of his followers, 
and sending others of them home to Spain. 
To both parties, Indians were assigned as 
slaves, and instead of tribute, the free natives 
were compelled to cultivate the land of the 
Spaniards settled in their vicinity. This 
treatment of the Indians, is one of the great¬ 
est stains on the memory of Columbus, and 
shows how little the rights of humanity and 
the duties of Christianity were understood in 
that age. By the same vessels that carried 
home the conspirators, Columbus sent letters 
to the king, detailing all that had occurred, 
showing that the sovereign was not bound by 
the engagements he had made with the rebels, 
and requesting aid to restore tranquillity, and 
a learned man to act as judge of the island. 

Four vessels had been seen off the west 
part of the island, which Columbus learned 
were commanded by Ojeda, the bold cavalier 
already mentioned. He sent Roldan to in¬ 
quire into this suspicious expedition, who 
gladly undertook the enterprise, as likely to 
secure possession of his ill-gotten gains. Rol¬ 
dan met Ojeda, and found that he had a license 
from Fonseca, that the vessels were fitted out 
as a private adventure, and that they had 
already sailed along the coast of the mainland, 
from two hundred leagues east of the Orinoco 
to the gulf of Paria. In this expedition was 
a Florentine merchant, Amerigo Vespuccio, 
destined to give a name to the whole of this 
new world. Ojeda promised to meet the ad¬ 
miral at San Domingo, but instead of this, as 
soon as he had collected provisions, he sailed 
to Xaragua, where many of the mutinous fol¬ 
lowers of Roldan were settled. These men 
chose him for a leader, and were about to 
march with him to San Domingo for a redress 
of their grievances, when their old leader, 
with a band of resolute followers, arrived in 
their neighborhood. Ojeda retired to his ships, 
and after various manoeuvres between two such 
well-matched opponents, had to leave the is¬ 
land, but not till he had landed in several 
places and plundered the poor natives. Ojeda 
it appears, afterward sailed to Porto Rico, 
and carried off numbers of the Indians, whom 
he sold in the slave market of Cadiz. Mean¬ 
time another conspiracy broke out. Guevara, 
a young cavalier, had been banished from San 


Domingo for his licentious conduct; but there 
being no vessel to take him to Spain, was 
sent for a time to Xaragua. Here he fell in 
love with a daughter of Caonabo, the Carib 
chief, and intended to marry her, when Rol¬ 
dan, it is said, from jealousy, interfered. 
Roldan first sent him to another place, but he 
returned, and on his submission was allowed 
to remain. He, however, engaged in a con¬ 
spiracy, having for its object to kill Roldan, 
or put out his eyes; but the experienced reb¬ 
el was beforehand with them, seized the ring¬ 
leaders, and sent them prisoners to the admi¬ 
ral. Guevara’s uncle, Moxica, a former com¬ 
rade of Roldan, incensed at this action, be¬ 
gan to collect his old followers to free his 
nephew, but was anticipated by Columbus, 
who fell upon him suddenly, and seized him 
and his principal confederates. Moxica was 
put to death, some others condemned, but re¬ 
tained in confinement; and the Adelantado, 
seconded by Roldan, soon reduced the whole 
island to a state of tranquillity. 

This, however, was not to continue long. 
The enemies of Columbus were busy at 
court, where his friends were few and pow¬ 
erless. Ferdinand had undertaken these dis¬ 
coveries from no high or generous motive, 
but moved only by hopes of wealth, which 
he now found greatly disappointed. Instead 
of receiving supplies from them, they were a 
constant drain on his treasury, already ex¬ 
hausted by his numerous wars. His disap¬ 
pointed avarice made him lend a ready ear to 
all the accusations brought against Columbus 
by the idle dissolute men who returned home. 
Many of these persons flocked to court, de¬ 
manding arrears of pay, while their conduct 
in the colony had only deserved punishment. 
Their insolence may be judged of from the 
imprecations with which they saluted the 
two sons of Columbus, who attended court as 
pages to the queen. “ There go,” they 
would exclaim, “ the sons of the admiral, the 
whelps of him who discovered the land of 
vanity and delusion, the grave of Spanish hi¬ 
dalgos!” The queen had long been his 
faithful friend, but her humanity was excited 
by the treatment of the Indians, whom Co¬ 
lumbus persisted in sending home as slaves. 
She ordered them all to be returned to their 
native land, and gave her consent to a com¬ 
mission to inquire into the conduct of the ad¬ 
miral. One principal object of this appoint¬ 
ment on the part of Ferdinand, was his wish 
to obtain some excuse for depriving Colum¬ 
bus of the high privilege with which he had 
invested him. Like many other wicked men, 
he sought to cover one act of ingratitude and 
injustice by adding to it another. The per¬ 
son chosen for this purpose was Francesco de 
Bobadilla, whom some represent as a very 








CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


362 


honest and religious man, others, with more 
semblance of truth, as needy, passionate, and 
ambitious. He was empowered to examine 
into the late rebellion, and the government of 
the admiral and his brothers; and on finding 
them guilty, to supersede them in the admin¬ 
istration. 

With the latter part of this commission, 
Bobadilla was not long of complying. He 
reached San Domingo on the 23d of August, 
1500, and having landed the next morning, 
ordered his commission to be read, authori¬ 
zing him to investigate the late rebellion. 
Columbus was absent in the interior; but his 
brother Diego refused to give up the prison¬ 
ers till his return, and asked for a copy of this 
letter to send to him. Bobadilla refused this, 
and next morning read a second royal patent, 
investing him with the government of the is¬ 
land, and again demanded the prisoners. Di¬ 
ego replied, that he held the prisoners in 
obedience to the admiral, who was invested 
with higher powers, on which Bobadilla pro¬ 
duced a third mandate from the crown, order¬ 
ing Columbus and his brothers to deliver up 
to him all fortresses, ships, and other royal 
property; and a fourth mandate, ordering 
him to pay all arrears of wages to persons in 
the royal service, which was received with 
shouts of applause by the multitude. He 
again demanded the prisoners, and when they 
were refused, repaired to the fort where they 
were confined. The alcade, Miguel Diaz, 
had the gates closed, and appearing on the 
wall, declared that he would only obey his 
lord the admiral. Enraged beyond measure, 
Bobadilla assembled his followers in order to 
storm the fort, which, having no garrison, he 
entered without resistance. He then took 
possession of the house of Columbus, and 
seized upon all his effects, books, and private 
papers. When information of these events 
reached the admiral, he considered them 
merely as the acts of some private adventurer, 
and moved toward San Domingo. He was 
met by an alcade, who proclaimed Bobadilla’s 
accession to office ; but the new governor took 
no notice of him, and did not even answer a 
letter he had written. Columbus was in great 
uncertainty how to act, when two messengers 
arrived with a royal letter of credence, com¬ 
manding him to give implicit faith and obedi¬ 
ence to Bobadilla; and presented at the same 
time, a summons from the latter to appear be¬ 
fore him. Columbus at once obeyed, but on 
reaching the town was seized, put in irons, 
and confined in the fortress. When the irons 
were brought, no one was found to put them 
on him, till the task was undertaken by one 
of his own domestics, “ a graceless and shame¬ 
less cook, who riveted the fetters with as 
much readiness and alacrity, as though he 


were serving him with choice and savory 
viands.” His two brothers met the same fate, 
being also put in irons, and confined separately 
on board a caravel. Bobadilla never came to 
see them, or gave them any account of the 
crimes with which they were charged, so that, 
in the admiral’s own words, they “ w r ere 
thrown into a ship, loaded with irons, with lit¬ 
tle clothing, and much ill treatment, without 
being summoned or convicted by justice.” 
Such was the reward Columbus received from 
his unworthy sovereign, whom it is in vain to 
defend by throwing the blame on the misera¬ 
ble instrument of his malice and ingratitude. 

To justify his conduct, Bobadilla collected 
evidence from all quarters against the admiral 
and his brothers, to whom all the late disturb¬ 
ances in the island were imputed. When this 
was completed, he sent Columbus home in 
charge of Alonzo de Villejo, an honorable 
officer. When he came to conduct him on 
board, Columbus knowing the inveteracy of 
his enemies, thought it was to lead him to the 
scaffold. “ Villejo,” said he mournfully, 
“ whither are you taking me ?” “ To the 
ship, your excellency, to embark,” replied the 
other. “ To embark !” repeated the admiral 
earnestly ; “ Villejo, do you speak the truth ?” 
“By the life of your excellency, it is true,” 
replied the honest officer. With these words 
the admiral was comforted, and felt as one re¬ 
stored from death to life. Such is the account 
of this touching incident, which Washington 
Irving has taken from Las Casas, who proba¬ 
bly received it from his friend Villejo himself. 
Columbus left the island early in October, 
“shackled like the vilest of culprits, amid 
the scoffs and shouts of a miscreant rabble.” 
Villejo would have removed his irons, but 
Columbus would not consent; they had been 
imposed by the authority of their majesties, 
and said he, “ I will wear them until they 
shall order them to be taken off; and I will 
preserve them as relics and memorials of the 
reward of my services.” “ He did so,” adds 
his son ; “ I saw them always hanging in his 
cabinet, and lie requested that when he died, 
they might be buried with him. 

When Columbus arrived in irons at Cadiz, 
from the world that he had discovered, a uni¬ 
versal burst of indignation was heard through¬ 
out Spain, and was responded to by the whole 
of the civilized world. Even the cold heart¬ 
less monarch quailed before it, and had to ex¬ 
press his reprobation of such unworthy treat¬ 
ment. Columbus was ordered to be set free, 
was received with many marks of favor at 
court, and the charges against him were never 
listened to. But the true vindication of his 
conduct, that which justice strongly demand¬ 
ed, was withheld, notwithstanding repeated 
solicitations. He was not restored to his 









CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


363 


viceroyalty ; and Ferdinand, while disowning 
the crime, retained its fruits. Many voyages 
to, and discoveries in, the New World, had 
recently taken place, not only among his own 
subjects, but by other nations. Sebastian 
Cabot, in 1497, had coasted along North 
America from Labrador to Florida, in an 
English ship fitted out by Henry VII.; and 
Cabral, a Portuguese, in a voyage to India, 
had discovered, in April, 1500, the coast of 
Brazil. Ferdinand thus saw his new domin¬ 
ions expanding to a boundless extent, and in 
danger of being encroached on by other na¬ 
tions. He had long repented of the pow¬ 
ers granted to Columbus, and every new dis¬ 
covery made him repine the more at the re¬ 
ward conferred on a foreigner, whose services 
could now be dispensed with. Ovando was 
appointed to supersede Bobadilla in the gov¬ 
ernment, for which the latter had shown him¬ 
self wholly incapable. For this, various ex¬ 
cuses were assigned to Columbus, and a prom¬ 
ise given him of being restored to his office in 
two years, when all angry passions were al¬ 
layed and affiairs restored to order. Ovando 
was fitted out with great splendor, and his 
departure hastened by the reports of the evil 
results of the administration of Bobadilla. 
This person had parcelled out the natives 
among the white men, who, well aware that the 
time of license would be but short, exercised 
the most capricious tyranny, and compelled 
them to work in the mines by the most inhu¬ 
man cruelties. Ovando left Spain in Febru¬ 
ary, 1502, with a fleet of thirty sail, contain¬ 
ing about twenty-five hundred persons. In a 
storm which it encountered, one ship, with 
one hundred and twenty passengers, was lost, 
and the rumor that the whole fleet had per¬ 
ished, spread consternation throughout Spain, 
but afterward proved unfounded. 

While these events were taking place, Co¬ 
lumbus remained with the court at Granada, 
endeavoring to restore his affairs, and at the 
same time to excite the sovereigns to undertake 
an expedition to recover the holy sepulchre 
from the infidels. This seems to have been 
the leading object in his mind to which all his 
great discoveries were only preparatory, but 
probably receiving no encouragement, he 
turned again to the old path. He therefore 
requested permission to fit out a new expedi¬ 
tion, the object of which was to search for 
some channel between the countries already 
discovered, leading directly to the rich realms 
of eastern Asia. The king gladly granted his 
request, as putting off for a time more trouble¬ 
some claims, aud as likely to gratify his own 
cupidity. Before setting out, Columbus wrote 
to the pope, excusing his delay in visiting his 
holiness to give a personal account of his dis¬ 
coveries, and explaining the causes that pre¬ 


vented his expedition to the holy sepulchre. 
He also transmitted two copies of all the let¬ 
ters and grants he had received from the sov¬ 
ereigns, with an account of his discoveries, 
and a vindication of his rights, to a friend in 
Genoa, showing his well-founded fear of 
Spanish ingratitude, and his desire to secure 
his own dear-bought fame. Having arranged 
these matters, he left Cadiz in May, 1502, 
on his fourth and last voyage, accompanied 
by his son Fernando and his brother Bar¬ 
tholomew. He had four small vessels, the 
largest only seventy tons burden. After touch¬ 
ing on the coast of Morocco and at the cana¬ 
ries, he reached the Caribbee islands in the 
middle of June. From this he steered by 
Santa Cruz and Porto Rico for San Domingo, 
where he wished to exchange one of his ves¬ 
sels which sailed extremely ill. This course 
was contrary both to his own plan and the or¬ 
ders of the king, by which he had been for¬ 
bidden to touch on Hispaniola. Columbus 
anchored off the towui on the 29tli of June, 
and asked permission of Ovando to enter the 
harbor, stating the purpose for which he had 
come, and his dread of an approaching storm. 
Ovando had now been some time in office, 
and his fleet w r as about to return, having on 
board Bobadilla, Guarionex. once cacique of 
the fertile Vega, and an immense quantity of 
gold collected by the oppression of the na¬ 
tives. One piece of gold, the grano de oro , 
as it is called in the old chronicles, was par¬ 
ticularly famous, weighing, according to the 
best computation, about forty pounds troy 
English. Ovando refused to allow Columbus 
to enter the harbor, and neglected his repeated 
warning to delay the sailing of the fleet. It left 
the harbor, but in t\tfo days w r as overtaken by 
an awful hurricane : the ship containing Bob¬ 
adilla, Roldan, and some others of the most 
inveterate enemies of Columbus, with all their 
ill-gotten wealth, was swallowed up in the 
ocean, and only one vessel, the weakest of the 
fleet, and containing some property of Colum¬ 
bus, could continue her voyage to Spain. The 
admiral had sailed along the coast, expecting 
the storm to be from the land, and, sheltered 
by it, reached Port Hermoso without much 
damage. Columbus regarded his own safety 
almost as miraculous, while the destruction 
of his enemies was ascribed to Divine inter¬ 
position by his cotemporaries. 

Columbus, after refitting his vessel, sailed 
for the mainland, which he reached on the 
coast of Honduras. Here he met with a 
large canoe, containing a cacique and family, 
who seemed to have come from a long jour¬ 
ney, bringing with them articles of copper and 
manufactures of a superior kind to any yet 
seen among the natives. The Indians pointed 
out to him a rich country in the west, proba- 









CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


364 


bly Yucatan or Mexico, but Columbus turned 
east, looking for the supposed strait. He 
made but slow progress, being opposed by the 
winds and currents, and a tempest which he 
says surpassed in violence and duration any 
he had ever seen. At last they doubled a 
cape, which he named Gracias a Dios, as the 
coast turning direct south gave them a free 
navigation and favorable wind. They stopped 
at a river to take in wood and water, but 
the sudden swell of the sea in the estuary 
swamped one of the boats, whose whole crew 
perished. Leaving this melancholy place, 
Columbus next anchored near an Indian vil¬ 
lage named Cariarri, where he was kindly 
entertained, and remained some time to re¬ 
fresh his men. He next sailed along the re¬ 
gion afterward named Costa Rica or the Rich 
Coast, from the mines of the precious metals 
found in its mountains, and in his traffic with 
the natives procured, for the merest trifles, 
several large plates of gold which they wore 
as ornaments. Many reports of countries in 
the west, rich in gold and silver, were com¬ 
municated to him, and probably had reference 
to Mexico or Peru; but instead of following 
these, he continued east, looking for the ima¬ 
ginary strait that was to open up a passage to 
the east. He next touched at. a harbor named 
Puerto Bello, from its beauty, and afterward 
was forced to take shelter in a small port, so 
deep that there was no anchorage till the ships 
almost touched the land. The sailors used to 
leap on shore during the night, and so pro¬ 
voked the Indians by their bad conduct that 
they assembled in great numbers to attack the 
ships, but were dispersed on the first dis¬ 
charge of artillery. Here Columbus, despair¬ 
ing of finding any passage through the main¬ 
land, turned back to explore the rich country 
he had left behind. 

The wind, which had opposed their east¬ 
ward progress for three months, now suddenly 
changed to the west, and they were driven 
out to sea by a tremendous storm, which con¬ 
tinued for nine days. The sea boiled like a 
caldron, and at night its waves resembled 
great surges of flame; the thunder and light¬ 
ning were almost incessant, and the rain 
poured down in torrents into their open ves¬ 
sels. One day a waterspout passed close by 
the ships, but without injuring them, and after 
great difficulties they at last reached the river 
Belen, on the coast of Veragua. Here he re¬ 
mained some time, till his brother, the Ade- 
lantado, investigated the country and found it 
very rich in gold. Columbus again imagined 
he had found one of those places whence Sol¬ 
omon had procured his unbounded wealth, and 
resolved to found a new colony. Eighty men 
were to remain with the Adelantado, while 
Columbus returned to Spain for supplies. 


Their various arrangements were soon com¬ 
pleted, but the river, lately swollen by rains 
in the mountains, was now so shallow that 
his vessels could not pass over the bar at 
its mouth, and he was detained till another 
inundation should set them free. Meantime, 
Quibian, the cacique of the Indians, resolved 
to expel the unwelcome guests, and collected 
his warriors. Diego Mendez, notary to the 
fleet, suspected their designs, and, venturing 
boldly into their camp, had his suspicions con¬ 
firmed. A native, too, revealed the plot of 
his countrymen to the admiral. They intend¬ 
ed to attack the fort by night, set it on fire, 
and kill all the white men. The Adelantado 
resolved to anticipate them, and marching into 
their camp with seventy-five men, seized 
Quibian, and sent him away captive in a boat, 
but the wily savage contrived to free himself 
from his bonds, plunged into the sea, and es¬ 
caped. Returning to his dwelling, he found 
it wasted and his family carried into captivi¬ 
ty. The admiral had now put out to sea, and 
was only waiting for a fair wind. Before he 
could sail, however, the Indians had attacked 
the fort, and though repulsed, had again assem¬ 
bled in great numbers, massacred a boat’s 
crew, which bad been sent on shore for wood, 
and shut the Spaniards up within their defen¬ 
ces. The admiral was in great anxiety for 
his brother, the high surf preventing any com¬ 
munication with the shore, when during the 
night he heard a mysterious voice reproach¬ 
ing him with his want of faith in God, who 
had given him the keys to unlock the gates 
of the ocean sea, shut by such mighty chains. 
Immediately after this vision the sea became 
calm, and the Adelantado, with his followers, 
embarked on board the vessels, leaving the set¬ 
tlement deserted. The family of the cacique 
confined in the ships had partly escaped and 
partly destroyed themselves in despair at 
leaving their native land. 

Columbus now sailed for Hispaniola, but 
the winds and currents carried him far west 
of his appointed port. One of the caravels 
had been left in the river Belen, another was 
so wasted that it had to be deserted on the 
voyage, and the two that remained were so 
honeycombed by the teredo as to be scarcely 
seaworthy. Columbus tried to beat up to 
Hispaniola, but all his efforts were in vain, 
and at last, fearing his vessels might founder 
at sea, he had to run them aground on the 
coast of Jamaica, where they soon filled with 
water. He then built thatched cabins on the 
prow and stern for the crews, and remained 
castled in the sea. His trusty follower, Die¬ 
go Mendez, went on shore and arranged with 
the Indians to supply them with provisions, 
and then offered to proceed to Hispaniola in 
an Indian canoe to ask relief. With him Co- 











CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


365 


lutnbus sent letters to the sovereigns, giving a 
a most glowing description of the land now 
discovered, and indulging in romantic visions 
contrasting strangely with his actual condition 
— “broken down by age and infirmities, 
racked with pain, confined to his bed, and 
shut up in a wreck on the coast of a remote 
and savage island.” Mendez set out on his 
expedition, accompanied by one Spaniard and 
six Indians. He reached the end of the 
island, but was taken prisoner by some hostile 
Indians who determined to kill them. He 
contrived to escape in his canoe, and returned 
to the ships, where he offered to make a sec¬ 
ond attempt. He was now accompanied in 
another canoe by a Genoese named Fiesco, 
while the Adelantado guarded them along the 
coast. Taking advantage of a calm day, the 
canoes set sail and soon lost sight of land, but 
on the second day the water was almost ex¬ 
hausted, and one of the Indians died under 
the heat and labor. In the evening even the 
leaders had begun to despair, when the rising 
moon showed them the island of Navassa, a 
mere barren rock, but containing water in the 
hollow clefts. They remained here a day, 
living on shell-fish, and on the fourth day 
reached Hispaniola, distant about a hundred 
miles from Jamaica. Mendez proceeded along 
the coast for San Domingo, but hearing that 
the governor was in Haragua, he left his ca¬ 
noe and proceeded overland to meet him. 
Ovando promised to send immediate relief, but 
delayed from day to day and month to month. 

A new misfortune had in the meantime 
fallen on Columbus. Part of the crew, led 
by a person of the name of Porras, rose in 
mutiny, and seizing some canoes that Colum¬ 
bus had bought from the natives, deserted 
him and the sick, and resolved to sail for 
Hispaniola. They took what arms and pro¬ 
visions they chose, and proceeded along the 
coast plundering and abusing the Indians. 
They made two attempts to leave the island, 
but were driven back by the wind, and then 
wandered about the country, supporting them¬ 
selves by robbing the natives. Columbus, by 
skilful arrangements, had recruited the health 
and spirits of those who remained with him, 
but the Indians began to relax in supplying 
him with provisions, and as the toys given 
in payment became more common, asked a 
far higher price for what they brought. In 
this extremity Columbus, knowing that on a 
particular night an eclipse of the moon would 
take place, resolved to use it to intimidate the 
natives. He assembled all the caciques, and 
told them that the God of the heavens, whom 
he and hi§ people worshipped, was angry with 
the Indians for refusing them supplies, and 
meant to punish them with famine and pesti¬ 
lence. As a token of this they would that night I 


see the moon become dark and change its color. 
Some of the Indians derided the prediction, 
but when they saw the dark shadow stealing 
over the moon, they were seized with terror, 
and hurried to the ships with provisions, en¬ 
treating Columbus to intercede to avert the 
threatened calamity. Columbus retired to 
his cabin to commune with the Deity, while 
the Indians filled the woods with their wild 
lamentations; and when the eclipse was about 
to diminish, Columbus came forth and told 
that he had prevailed with God in their be¬ 
half, and that they would be pardoned on con¬ 
dition of fulfilling their promises, in sign of 
which the darkness would now withdraw from 
the moon. Columbus was thenceforth re¬ 
garded by the Indians with awe, as possessed 
of supernatural powers, and from that time no 
want of provisions was felt in the ships. 

Eight months had now passed away, with 
no prospect of relief, and a new mutiny was 
about to break out, when one evening a ves- 
sel was seen off’the harbor. Next day a boat 
came from it to the ships, in which was Es¬ 
cobar, one of the former rebels against Colum¬ 
bus. He had been sent by Ovando, probably 
as a spy, for, after a short conversation with 
Columbus, and giving him a letter from the 
governor, he departed. The crew were much 
disappointed at this desertion, but were reas¬ 
sured by the admiral, who said that Escobar’s 
vessel was too small to take the whole, and 
that he had sailed for larger ships. Columbus 
afterward sent a messenger to the mutineers, 
offering them a free pardon and passage home, 
provided they would return to their obedi¬ 
ence. Porras rejected all conditions, and to 
render his men hopeless of forgiveness, re¬ 
solved to attack and plunder the ships. Co¬ 
lumbus sent his brother to meet them, who 
again offered them pardon, but, confident in 
their numbers, the rebels would listen to no 
terms, and attacked the Adelantado. They 
were well received by this experienced sol¬ 
dier, who took Porras captive with his own 
hand, when his followers fled, leaving several 
slain. Next day the fugitives sent a petition 
for pardon binding themselves to obedience 
by horrid imprecations. Columbus granted 
this request, and at length, after a year of de¬ 
lay, two vessels arrived, one fitted out by 
Mendez at the admiral’s expense, the other by 
Ovando, whose long neglect had roused the 
public indignation so that even the clergy 
were condemning it from the pulpit. On the 
28th of June, 1504, Columbus took leave of 
the wreck which had been so long his home, 
amid the tears of the Indians, who regretted 
the departure of their celestial visitants. On 
the 13lh of August he anchored at San Do¬ 
mingo, where he was received with the high¬ 
est marks of distinction by the people, in 









CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


366 


which the governor saw fit to agree. There 
was, however, no friendly feelings between 
them, and Columbus found reason to com¬ 
plain of the way in which the island, where 
he had so strong an interest had been gov¬ 
erned. 

The condition to which Hispaniola had 
been reduced during the absence of Colum¬ 
bus, is the best refutation of the calumnies 
of his enemies. Ovando had been accompa¬ 
nied to the island by a large band of adven¬ 
turers, who on their arrival set out for the 
mines, but, unaccustomed to labor, and ignor¬ 
ant of the method of collecting the precious 
metals, soon exhausted their store of provis¬ 
ions without any result, and returned in utter 
poverty to the town, where more than a thou¬ 
sand of them died of want and disease. Isa¬ 
bella had ordered the Indians to be set free, 
when they, of course, refused to labor in the 

mines. A new decree was then obtained, bv 

•/ 

which they were to work a short time for 
hire, and in order to aid in their conversion. 
On this pretence they were anew portioned 
out among their former masters, who treated 
them with the most brutal cruelty. Las Ca¬ 
sas, an eyewitness, says : “ They were com¬ 
pelled to labor by the lash, fed on unsubstan¬ 
tial cassava bread, and so sparingly that they 
scrambled like dogs under the table for the 
bones thrown to them by their masters ; and 
when at last dismissed, they were found dead 
on the road home, or lyino: gasping under the 
trees, faintly crying 4 Hunger, hunger!’*’ 
Many fled to the mountains, others killed 
themselves in despair, and before twelve 
years from its first discovery was over, sev¬ 
eral hundred thousands of its once happy na¬ 
tives had been sacrificed to the lust and avar¬ 
ice of the white men. A more striking fate 
was reserved for the people of Xaragua, still 
independent, and governed by Anaconda, the 
wife of Caonabo, formerly mentioned. Ovan¬ 
do marched thither with three hundred men, 
and was received in the most friendly manner 
by the natives. On a Sunday afternoon he 
assembled the chiefs and people to witness a 
mock fight among his soldiers, but at an ap¬ 
pointed signal took all the caciques who had 
met in his lodgings, to the number of eighty, 
prisoners, forced from them by torture a con¬ 
fession of guilt, and then consumed them in 
the flames of the house. Ilis troops, mean¬ 
while, massacred the naked and defenceless 
Indians, shut up in a square whence they 
could not escape. The excuse for this treach¬ 
ery was an alleged conspiracy of the natives, 
for which Anaconda was subsequently hang¬ 
ed, and the fertile country reduced to a deso¬ 
late wilderness. Another province, Higuey, 
was still independent, but the Spaniards soon 
penetrated there also, and after an obstinate 


but unavailing resistance, massacred or sub¬ 
dued the people, and taking the cacique pris¬ 
oner, banged him like a common felon. In 
this war the Spaniards committed deeds of 
horrid and atrocious cruelty, such as can not 
now even be related, so that their country¬ 
man, Las Casas, says: “All these things, 
and others revolting to human nature, my 
own eyes beheld, and now I almost fear to re¬ 
peat them, scarce believing myself, or wheth¬ 
er I have not dreamed them.” 

Such was the state of the once rich and 
happy island, when Columbus returned to it 
after his long absence, more like a region giv¬ 
en as a prey to evil spirits, than the earthly 
paradise he originally imagined it. He left 
it for Spain, on the 12th of September, 1504, 
after assisting from bis private funds many of 
the companions of bis misfortunes, some of 
whom had been the most violent amonsj the 
rebels. His vessel suffered much from tem¬ 
pests, and he himself was confined to bed by 
the gout, but arrived in Spain on the 7th of 
November, and took up bis residence at Se¬ 
ville. Trouble followed him even here, the 
revenue he should have received from the In¬ 
dies being withheld by the governor, and bis 
remonstrances to the king unheeded. The 
calumnies of bis enemies prevailed against 
him, though be had, in his own words, “ serv¬ 
ed their majesties with as much zeal and dil¬ 
igence as if it had been to gain Paradise.” 
His best friend was now gone, Isabella hav¬ 
ing died on the 2Gth November, of deep mel¬ 
ancholy caused by the death of her favorite 
children. Columbus remained in Seville du¬ 
ring the winter, bis health not permitting him 
to proceed to court, where the king received 
all his applications for justice with cold indif¬ 
ference. In May he was able to travel to 
Segovia, where he had an interview with 
Ferdinand, who received him with cold pro¬ 
fessions of kindness and evasive promises. 
The king never meant to keep his word—■“ a 
little more delay, a little more disappoint¬ 
ment, a little more infliction of ingratitude, 
and this loyal and generous heart would cease 
to heat; he should then be delivered from 
the just claims of a well-tried servant, who, 
in ceasing to he useful, was considered by 
him to have become importunate.” 

And this event was now at hand. Tortur¬ 
ed by disease, and despairing of justice, Co¬ 
lumbus having made a will settling all his af¬ 
fairs with scrupulous exactness, and perform¬ 
ed the pious offices required by his religion, 
expired with great resignation, on the 20th of 
May, 1506, in about the seventieth year of 
his age. His remains were first deposited in 
the convent of St. Francisco, whence they 
were transferred in 1513 to a monastery at 
Seville, and in 1536, along with the body of 










CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 


367 


his son Diego, were transported to Hispanio¬ 
la, and interred in the cathedral of San Do¬ 
mingo. Even there they were not destined 
to rest in peace, but in 1795, when the island 
was given up to France, were removed to 
Havana, in Cuba. Ferdinand erected a mon¬ 
ument to his memory, or rather of his own 
ingratitude, inscribed thus : “ For Castile and 
Le<Jn, Columbus found a New World.” 
The true monument of the great Genoese is 
the vast continent he made known to man¬ 
kind—'his true reward, the gratitude of pos¬ 
terity, and the fame that will attend him to 
the latest ages. His actions show his char¬ 
acter in its truest and noblest light, especially 
when contrasted with those of his contempo- 
raries, with whom he came into immediate 
contact. His imagination was ardent, and 
apt to lead him astray, but regulated by a 
knowledge of science rare in those days. 
His ambition was lofty and soaring, and thus 
the source of much misfortune to him. He 
was not satisfied with common rewards, but 
sought others which the haughty dignity of 
the Spanish monarch felt degraded by grant¬ 
ing, and the very importance of his services 
became a reason for withholding from him his 
due reward. Avarice seems to have influen¬ 
ced his mind less than honor and dignity, and 
he was always more disposed to maintain his 
authority by mildness than severity. His 
conduct to the poor Indians is the darkest 
spot on his character, and when we read of 
the misery and destruction his discovery en¬ 
tailed on that unoffending race, we almost 
feel as if his own sufferings were demanded 
by justice. Though he often tried to defend 
the natives from the oppressions of his fol¬ 
lowers, we can not forget that it was his con¬ 
stant appeals to the low avarice of the Span¬ 
ish court, and the visions of gold and precious 
stones, by which he endeavored to prove the 
value of his discoveries, that drew to the 
New World that horde of lawless ruffians 
who were the great cause of all bis trials. 
He led out colonies by the hope of gold, 
wrested from the hands of weak and defence¬ 
less savages, and his reckless followers, balk¬ 
ed of their prey, turned on him as a deceiver. 
This curse of the greed of gold, has adhered 
to the Spanish colonies even to the present 
day, like a malignant pestilence, wasting their 
strength and never suffering them to take root 

O t O # 

in the land. It is but justice to this great 
man to remark, that many of his errors were' 
those of his time, and that even the church 
justified his treatment of the natives. His 
loftiest imaginings also fell short of the won¬ 
derful reality. “ How would his magnani¬ 
mous spirit have been consoled,” says his elo¬ 
quent historian, “ amid the afflictions of age, 
and the cares of penury, the neglect of a fickle 


public, and the injustice of an ungrateful king, 
could he have anticipated the splendid em¬ 
pires which were to spread over the beautiful 
world he had discovered ; and the nations, 
tongues, and languages, which were to fill its 
lands with bis renown, and to revere and bless 
his name to the latest posterity.” 

It may not be uninteresting to mention the 
subsequent fortunes of the family of Colum¬ 
bus. He was succeeded in his rights as vice¬ 
roy of the New World by his son Diego, 
described as a man of great integrity, of re¬ 
spectable talents, and of a frank, arid gentle 
disposition. He came forward to claim the 
restitution of the family offices and privileges; 
but Ferdinand was not inclined to bestow on 
the son what he had withheld from the higher 
merit of the father. After two years’ vain 
solicitation, Diego only obtained leave to pros¬ 
ecute bis claim in the ordinary courts of law. 
The suit, commenced in 1508 and continued 
for several years, was decided in his favor, 
but the court had no power to enforce compli¬ 
ance on the monarch. At last, Diego having 
married a niece of the celebrated duke of 
Alva, the chief favorite of the king, the mon¬ 
arch yielded to this powerful influence what 
he had denied to justice. Ovando was re¬ 
called in compliance with a promise long be¬ 
fore made to the queen on her deathbed ; and 
Diego appointed with the same .powers. He 
went out to San Domingo in 1509, with his 
wife, his two uncles, and his brother, and 
ruled with a degree of splendor hitherto un¬ 
known. But he could not reform the abuses 
that had crept into the colony ; factious men 
still disputed his authority, and the oppression 
and destruction of the Indians continued. In 
1519, Cuba was colonized, and the mines in 
Hispaniola being exhausted, the culture of 
the sugar-cane, a more certain source of rich- , 
es was introduced. On the representation of 
the Dominican friars, the labor of the natives 
was diminished, and negro-slaves from Afri¬ 
ca employed instead, but treated with a bar¬ 
barity surpassing even that inflicted on the 
Indians. In 1515, Diego repaired to court to 
answer charges brought against him; but 
though his innocence was admitted, he con¬ 
tinued involved in long and trottblesome liti¬ 
gation with the fiscal officers of the crown. 
He returned to the island in 1520, but was 
recalled about three years afterward, and 
spent the rest of his life in the vain endeavor 
to obtain justice from the court, having died 
near Toledo in 1526. His wife claimed the 
inheritance for his son, Don Luis, who, find¬ 
ing his dignities and privileges sources of vex¬ 
ation to himself, resigned them to the empe¬ 
ror Charles V., and in return was created 
duke of Veragua, and received a fixed sum 
of money for his claim to a tenth of the prod- 















368 EXERCISE OF THE EYES. 


uce of the Indies. In 1578, all the legiti¬ 
mate male heirs of Columbus were extinct, 
and a long lawsuit commenced, which was at 
last decided in favor of Don Nuno de Portu- 
gallo, a branch of the Portuguese house of 
Braganza, and the great-grandson of Diego, 
the eldest son of Columbus. 

Columbus’s brother, the Adelantado, sur¬ 
vived him several years, but was never em¬ 
ployed in any office of importance, the king 
being jealous of the too great influence of the 
family. Femando, the second son of Colum¬ 
bus, made several voyages to the New World, 
and also travelled over many parts of Europe, 
Asia, and Africa. He possessed good natu¬ 
ral abilities and studious habits, and collected 
a library of more than twenty thousand vol¬ 
umes, which he left to the cathedral of Se¬ 
ville, where he died in 1539, aged about fifty- 
one years. He wrote several works, the on¬ 
ly one of which that is known being his his¬ 
tory of his father the admiral. It is singular 
that this history only exists in Spanish, a re- 
translation from an Italian translation of the 
original. This has given rise to many errors 
in names and dates, but the work is still en¬ 
titled to great credit, and forms the founda¬ 
tion of all the biographies of Columbus; one 
of the best and fullest of which is the pro¬ 
duction of Washington Irving. It is to this 
work that we have been chiefly indebted in 
drawing up this account of the fortunes of the 
illustrious Genoese, whose merits have sur¬ 
vived all calumny, and are indelibly inscribed 
on the history of the world. 


EXERCISE FOR THE EYES. 

BY DR. W. A. ALCOTT. 

It has been very generally supposed, that 
in order to strengthen the eye, above all, if 
debilitated or diseased, it must be little used. 
From this mistaken view have arisen a thou¬ 
sand errors. To it in no small degree, we 
owe the mighty deluge of spectacles of all 
sorts, of which we have already loudly com¬ 
plained ; together with a host of mechanical 
contrivances for favoring weak eyes; or im¬ 
proving those already strong. To it, more¬ 
over, we owe in no small degree, much ol that 
superficiality in learning which is so common 
among us now-a-days. Many a student seems 
to regard spectacles as a sort of substitute for 
thought and solid knowledge. 

Now we are of those who believe that if no 
person in the world would use any sort of 
spectacles or glasses for a thousand years to 


come, the eyesight of the race then on earth 
would be fur better than it is likely to be, as 
things are now going on. This is not saying 
that spectacles may not in some instances, be 
advantageously used, but only at the extreme 
to which we have alluded, would be far more 
tolerable than that which now exists. Nine 
in ten, perhaps ninety-nine in a hundred who 
use glasses are injured by them most unques¬ 
tionably. 

The grand point after all in the work of 
improving the eye—just as it is in the work 
of improving any other organ—is to give it a 
proper amount of healthful exercise. In one 
word, it must be used. 

Exercise of the eye, to be useful, must be 
varied. We must not read always, nor al¬ 
ways refrain from reading. We must not al¬ 
ways read the coarsest print nor must we go 
to the other and worse extreme, that of always 
using small print. We must not use a strong 
light always; nor must we resolve not to use 
a strong light at all. We must not read too 
much by artificial lights, nor need we refuse 
to use a lamp or candle in any circumstance. 
We should not read much when the mind or 
the body is in a state of considerable fatigue; 
nor need we go to the other extreme, of never 
reading at all in such circumstances. 

The course which science, experience, and 
observation, would seem to point out, is the 
following. Keep the eyes cool.—Use them 
much, generally in a full strong light, and in 
the open air; but at any rate, use them. Ac¬ 
custom them on occasions, to almost every 
degree of light, every kind of artificial ar¬ 
rangement : taking care, however, especially 
in reading small or bad type, and in using a 
light badly constructed or in a bad position, 
not to go so far as to induce fatigue. We 
believe that with these latter cautions, the eye 
will always improve by use; and that, on the 
contrary, more it is favored and indulged— 
babied as it were—the worse will be its con¬ 
dition. We believe that thousands tend or 
baby their eyes into chronic or deep-seated 
disease, when constant and varied exercise, 
and a due attention to light, air, and water, 
would have rendered them as strong as our 
own. We have no more use for spectacles 
now than we had at twenty years of age; nor 
do we mean to use any for twenty years to 
come. And yet we read with impunity—for 
a little while at once—in all sorts of light; 
and have so for about fifteen years.—And yet 
according to common appearances no man 
had a worse prospect before him, so far as 
eyesight was concerned, fifteen or twenty 
years ago, than ourselves, and though we 
could not lay too much stress on the experi¬ 
ence of one individual, we must be permitted 
to believe that it is worth something. 

O 












JOHN WINTHROP. 





JOHN WINTHROP, OF CONNECTICUT. 

John Winthrop, first Governor of 
Connecticut. —This distinguished gentle¬ 
man, for many years the governor of Connec¬ 
ticut, was the eldest son of John Winthrop, 
the first governor of Massachusetts, and found¬ 
er of the city of Boston—that famous pattern 
of piety and justice, as he is called in the 
early chronicles of New England—who emi¬ 
grated to America in 1630, and brought with 
him the confidence and respect of the govern¬ 
ment he had left, and the most exalted and 
upright faculty for the duties he came to as¬ 
sume. Graham, adopting the thought of a 
classic historian, says of him that he not only 
performed actions worthy to be written, but 
produced writings worthy to be read. His 
son John—the subject of this brief memoir— 
was scarcely less distinguished. He was the 
heir of all his father’s talent, prudence, and 


virtues, with a superior share of human learn¬ 
ing—much addicted to philosophical study 
and especially to physical science. He was 
one of the early patrons of the London Roy¬ 
al Society. Sir Ilans Sloane, and three oth¬ 
er members of that society, some fifty years 
afterward, in commending the grandson of 
this gentleman to the notice of their associ¬ 
ates, bear honorable testimony to the good 
repute in which the ancestor was held. They 
speak of the learned John Winthrop, as “one 
of the first members of this society, and who 
in conjunction with others, did greatly con¬ 
tribute to the obtaining of our charter; to 
whom the Royal Society in its early days 
was not only indebted for various ingenious 
communications, but their museum still con¬ 
tains many testimonies of his generosity, es¬ 
pecially of things relating to the natural his¬ 
tory of New England.” 

John Winthrop was elected governor of 


24 






































































370 


INDEPENDENCE AND ACCUMULATION. 


Connecticut for several years, in which sta¬ 
tion his many valuable qualities as a gentle¬ 
man, a philosopher, and a public ruler, pro¬ 
cured him the universal respect of the people 
under his government; and his unwearied at¬ 
tention to the public business and great un¬ 
derstanding in the art of government, were of 
unspeakable advantage to them. 

He was twice married, his second wife be¬ 
ing the daughter of the celebrated Hugh Pe¬ 
ters. By this marriage he had several chil¬ 
dren, two of whom were sons. The elder, 
Fitz-John, followed in the footsteps of his 
father—was elected governor of Connecticut, 
and held that post for nine years, commencing 
in 1698, and continuing till the day of his 
death. Thus father, son, and grandson, died 
in the highest office to which the affections 
of the people could exalt them. The young¬ 
er son was a member of the Massachusetts 
council, under the new charter granted by 
: William and Mary, and afterward chief-jus- 
| tice of the superior court of that state. His 
1 name was Wait Still, a compound of two 
family names—the middle name being deriv- 
| ed from the intermarriage of Adam, his great- 
: grandfather, with the family of Still. 

Wait Still Winthrop, the chief justice, ap- 
! pears to have left but two children, of whom 
John, the only son, resembled his grandfather 
in an ardent devotion to science, and like him 


became a distinguished member of the Royal 
Society; his introduction to that body being 
greatly facilitated by the respect in which 
the memory of his ancestor was yet held. 
Attracted by the love of his favorite studies, 
and his attachment to the society of learned 
men, he removed to England, and died in 
1747. He had seven children, of whom two 
were sons, John Still and Basil. On the 4th 
of September, 1750, the former married Jane 
Borland, of Boston, whose daughter Ann 
married the late David Sears, Esq.,* of that 
place. 


* Of this gentleman a note will hardly allow ns 
the proper space to speak of his character and vir¬ 
tues. He was bom on the 12th of August, 1752. 
He removed from Chatham to Boston in 1770, and 
visited England in 1774. He became acquainted 
with Dr. Franklin in London, and took letters to his 
friends in France and Holland. He remained on the 
continent nearly two years, and with difficulty made 
his way back to Boston. In various modes his ser- 
i vices were useful to his country. Daring the presi- 
i dency of the elder Adams, he was one of a commit- 
| tee of the citizens of Boston, for building a frigate 
(the Boston), toward which he subscribed three 
thousand dollars, and presenting it to government. 
He was largely interested in the India and China 
' trade, and added much to his fortune. He was dis- 
j tinguished as an intelligent and able financier—a di- 
' rector in the first “bank of the United States,” from 
its commencement to its termination—often a referee 
in intricate cases of mercantile equity; and bis 
whole career was marked by the most incorruptible 
integrity, which never for the sake of a paltry advan- 


The name of Winthrop will be remem¬ 
bered a 9 long as nations exist. It will rank 
with Newton, Boyle, and Locke, and those 
philanthropists of every age, who are an or¬ 
nament to human nature, and whose lives 
have been devoted to the cultivation of the 
moral graces, and the advancement of social 
and religious happiness; enlarging the circle 
of the human mind, and adorning the princi¬ 
ples of philosophy with the precepts of piety. 
Their fame is identified with the progress of 
knowledge and the diffusion of virtue. The 
history of such men sheds a bright and undy¬ 
ing lustre upon their country, and will call 
forth the grateful recollections of unborn gen¬ 
erations, so long as truth shall triumph over 
error, and the influence of Christianity be 
felt in removing vice and superstition from the 
hearts of men. 


INDEPENDENCE AND ACCUMULATION. I 

There is a remarkable harmony between 
the moral and physical laws of the universe. 
The laws of the unwritten revelation of na¬ 
ture may be said to give their sanction to the 
laws of the written revelation of the Bible. 
They never clash, they always run parallel; I 
indicating a common source, and pointing to j 
a common issue. We might find a familiar 
illustration of this great truth in the moral 
precept of temperance. We shall find the j 
laws of health and organization co-operating 
with the laws of our spiritual being, to bless 
the man who obeys ibis moral law—to punish 
him who disobeys it. We shall find the tem¬ 
perate man, other things being equal, in the 
enjoyment of vigorous health; we shall find the 

tage violated that punctilious delicacy which i» in¬ 
dispensable to the character of a gentleman. 

“ An easy mien, engaging in address, 

Looks which at once each winning grace express, 

A life where love and truth were ever joined, 

A nature ever good and ever kind, 

A wisdom solid and a judgment clear. 

The smile indulgent, and a soul sincere. w 

Mr. Seara was the proprietor of a large estate in 
Waldo county, in Maine, the settlers- and tenantry of 
which honored and revered him, and as they became 
proprietors of the soil, testified their gratitude for 
liis patriarchal treatment, by naming their towns in 
his honor. He was generous and charitable—the 
founder of the widows' fund in Trinity church—and 
a contributor to numerous charities. He died in front = 
of his house in Beacon-street, struck instantly dead 
by a stroke of apoplexy, as he was getting into his 
carriage to make an afternoon visit, on the mh of 
October, 1816. ** By this affecting event, this town 

[Boston], has lost an eminent merchant and excel¬ 
lent citizen ; an only child, an affectionate parent; 
this church [Trinity], a distinguished benefactor; 
society at large, a well bred and hospitable gentle¬ 
man.” 












INDEPENDENCE AND ACCUMULATION. 371 


intemperate man old in middle life, the victim 
of low spirits, headache, gout, dyspepsia, and 
delirium tremens. We might find an illus¬ 
tration equally striking in the moral precept 
of chastity* Terrible are the sanctions with 
which the physical laws of health, and organ¬ 
ization have hedged round this divine statute. 
The violation of it is indeed followed by rot¬ 
tenness in the bones. 

Our purpose in this article is to endeavor 
to show that this harmony between moral and 
physical law, prevails most strikingly as re¬ 
gards the vice against which the tenth com¬ 
mandment is directed. Many and solemn are 
the denunciations of the spirit of covetousness. 
We are told that the love of money is the 
root of all evil: that we can not serve God 
and mammon ; that a rich man can not enter 
into the kingdom of heaven. We are taught 
that a man’s life consisteth not in the abun¬ 
dance of the things which he possesseth ; and 
commanded to take no thought for the mor¬ 
row. How does external nature respond to 
these doctrines and precepts ? Most emphat¬ 
ically and unequivocally. It sanctions the 
precept, “ Take no thought for the morrow,” 
by declaring, that by taking ever so much 
thought we can not be rich. While we sigh 
for independence, and pursue it with our 
whole heart, nature declares that we can not 
be independent. While we accumulate, ad¬ 
ding house to house, and field to field, nature 
declares that there shall be no accumulation 
of real riches in all her wide domain. 

Palpable facts seem to contradict these as¬ 
sertions. Men do become rich, accumulate 
property, and attain to that sort of independ¬ 
ence which enables them to dispense with the 
necessity of earning bread by the sweat of 
their brow. These are but exceptions to the 
great general rule. The millions of the hu¬ 
man family are poor; they have always been 
poor; they shall always be poor. All the 
riches in the world were no more to their pov¬ 
erty than a drop of rain to the sand of the 
desert. All the accumulated property in the 
world would not sustain all the men in the 
world in independent idleness for one month ; 
and it is written in the law of the seasons 
that it shall never be otherwise. 

The principal riches in the world, and 
that without which all other riches were 
worthless, is grain, which is emphatically 
termed the staff of life. But the primeval 
curse is upon the earth, and it does not bring 
forth double harvests. We are told that 
seedtime and harvest shall never cease ; and 
in this it would appear to be intimated, that 
the annual harvest of the world shall suffice 
only for the world’s annual rations. At all 
events, thus it is : nature declares that there-’ 
shall be no accumulation of grain; but that 


yearly as the seasons revolve we must sow 
our fields and reap our harvests. It is not at 
all probable that there was ever a year and a 
half’s supply of the first necessary of life at 
one time in the world. Two thousand years 
ago a Roman poet thus wrote :— 

“ The sire of gods and men, with hard decrees, 
Forbids our plenty to be bought with ease, 

And wills that mortal men, inured to toil, 

Shall exercise with pains the grudging soil.” 

It is still the same in these days; though 
the science of agricnlture is probably better 
understood and more successfully reduced to 
practice now than at any former period. 

Clothes, which come second in our list of 
necessaries, are subject to the law which reg¬ 
ulates and limits the supply of food. An er¬ 
roneous opinion prevails, that by means of our 
mechanical power and machinery, we can 
produce clothing studs in unlimited quantity, 
and with as much facility as bank-notes. It 
were as correct to suppose that millers can 
produce an unlimited quantity of flour, or 
that bakers can produce loaves in unlimited 
numbers ; whereas it is clear that the loaves 
must be limited by the quantity of flour, and 
the flour by the quantity of wheat in the 
world. It is the same with the raw material 
of our clothing. The sheep’s wool, the cot¬ 
ton wool, the flax, the raw silk, which are the 
materials of our principal textile manufac¬ 
tures, are as difficult to produce as grain. 
They are equally subject to the law of the 
seasons ; and there is as great a difficulty in 
the way of their rapid increase. Indeed, 
there are peculiar difficulties in the way of 
an increase of our clothing materials. Grain 
can be grown in many countries where cotton 
and silk can not; and it will be seen at a 
glance that there are peculiar difficulties in 
the way of a rapid increase of the quantity 
of sheep’s wool. 

So as regards food and clothing, the indis¬ 
pensable necessaries of life, a nation can nev¬ 
er be said to be rich or independent. It can 
never say with the fool in the parable, “ Thou 
hast much goods laid up for many years.” 
But yet there are truth and meaning in such 
expressions as “the wealth of nations,” “the 
increase of national wealth.” In a most im¬ 
portant sense, nations may be rich, either as 
compared with each other, or with themselves 
at different periods of their history. 

The elementary idea of the wealth of a 
nation is exceedingly simple. It consists in 
the facilities it possesses for performing that 
work which must be performed every year. 
More particularly, it consists in the number 
and completeness of its tools, and in its skill 
to use them. Moral law commands, “ Lay 
not up treasures on earth ;” and the physi¬ 
cal law of the seasons effectually prohibits 














INDEPENDENCE AND ACCUMULATION. 


372 


nations from breaking it, as regards their in¬ 
dispensable riches; but neither moral nor 
physical law interposes to prevent nations or 
individuals from performing their work with 
as much facility and quickness as they please. 
Accordingly, men have sought out many in¬ 
ventions, in which we find the secret of their 
riches. The fertile lands of a country, its 
agricultural implements, its roads and canals, 
its quays and harbors, its ships, its factories 
and machinery—these, and the skill to use 
them, are the elements of a nation’s wealth. 
They are tools and instruments for the pro¬ 
duction and distribution of its annual supply 
of food and raiment; and according to their 
number and perfection, and the skill to handle 
them, is a nation rich or poor. But all these 
things are rather the potential means of 
wealth, than wealth itself. A nation may be 
possessed of all these means and appliances 
of wealth, and yet be poor as regards that in¬ 
dispensable wealth of nations, food and cloth¬ 
ing. If it were possible to multiply all these 
things a hundredfold, still the nation that pos¬ 
sessed them might be only a little way nearer 
to independence than the most untutored tribe 
of savages. 

But still there is a noble liberality in the 
hand of nature. Although the terms on 
which nations hold their lease of life are un¬ 
remitting toil and labor from year to year, 
yet provision is made for the support of two 
large classes who, from different causes, are 
incapable of toil. We allude to the young 
and the old—the wards and the pensioners of 
society. Nature makes ample provision for 
' these two classes. While she sternly de¬ 
mands that her strong young men shall follow 
her as she walks majestically through the 
seasons, and live by submitting to the prime¬ 
val destiny, she pours from her lap an abun¬ 
dant supply, not only for her immediate fol¬ 
lowers, but for their old men and their little 
ones. Here we have the first glimpse of a 
retiring pension fund in the economy of na¬ 
ture. We shall now briefly trace the process 
by which men write their names upon the 
list of pensioners, and become independent, 
long before nature gives them their discharge 
from the ranks of labor. 

The social compact is a fable; but it is 
founded upon enough of reality to warrant us 
to reason upon its prescriptive laws. One of 
the most universally acknowledged of them 
has reference to the institution of property. 
Men generally submit to labor as to a neces¬ 
sary evil, and long to escape from it to the 
imaginary elysium of independence. Such 
an escape is possible only by mutual accom¬ 
modation. In a simple state of society men 
’ could not be rich. They would soon reach 
► the limits of that accumulation which the 


physical laws of the world permit. They 
might produce in one year as much grain, and 
weave as much cloth, as would feed and 
clothe them, say for seven years ; but their 
independence of labor would still extend over 
only six years; and before the end of that 
time, the rats and the moths, and the wearing 
elements, would have made inroads upon 
their stores. But the independence which 
man can not win single-handed from nature, 
he secures by a compact with his brethren. 
The general process is as follows : He labors 
hard, and produces more than is required by 
his immediate wants. He gives the surplus 
to society, and receives in return a bond for 
the amount upon its productive powers. All 
that he produces, whether of corn, cloth, or 
other less-necessary commodities of daily use, 
as well as the aggregate produce of the entire 
community, is consumed during the year ; but, 
at the end of it, the hard-working man holds 
a mortgage upon part of the next year’s prod¬ 
uce, even before it exists. He repeats the 
process. He goes on working hard, or work¬ 
ing skilfully, or persuading others to work for 
him, disposing of his surplus produce, and in¬ 
creasing the number or amount of his bonds 
upon society, by which we simply mean mon¬ 
ey. At length he is satisfied that his ac¬ 
knowledged claims upon society are sufficient 
to keep him independent of labor all his life, 
and then he retires upon a competence. 

An independence thus Avon does no violence 
to that natural law which forbids the inde¬ 
pendence of an entire community. It is won 
by an honest and honorable process ; and the 
subject of it can comfort himself with the re¬ 
flection, that he is only receiving back from 
society that with which he had intrusted it, 
or for which he had given it value. While 
he was bearing the heat and burden of the 
day, others who had borne it before him, as 
well as the little ones who were to bear it af¬ 
ter him, were living upon the fruit of his im¬ 
mediate labor. All parties were accommoda¬ 
ted. They 

“ Held their being on the terms, 

Each help the others.” 

One would fain hope, that the time will come 
w r hen this mucli-coveted prize of independence 
will be held out by society as within the reach 
of all its members; when the honest, indus¬ 
trious man, instead of being haunted all his 
life by the fear of poverty in his old age, 
shall have the consolation of knoAving, that 
after a certain period of labor he shall receive 
his discharge, and be admitted in virtue of his 
services, into the great hospital of society. 

This Avere a consummation devoutly to be 
wished ; but after all, hoAv precarious is the 
independence of the most independent ! As 









A RAMBLING ESSAY UPON ROOMS. 373 


we approach the weeks of harvest, we are 
within a month or two of absolute starvation. 
Were the winds commissioned to thrash our 
fields, or the mildew to blight them, or the 
caterpillar to devour them, the rich and the 
poor, the nobleman and the beggar, should 
alike be swept into a common ruin. All the 
other riches in the world, failing the riches of 
our golden harvest-fields, were as worthless 
as the flash-notes of the forger. But, as re¬ 
gards this indispensable treasure, we have 
seen that neither individuals nor nations have 
been or ever can be rich. Our “ daily bread” 
is measured out to us, and our daily bread 
only. By taking thought, we could as easily 
add a cubit to our stature, or wash the Ethi¬ 
opian white, as we could make the nations in¬ 
dependent of labor for a single year. And 
yet, this independence is one of our heroic 
words. We singsongs in its praise. An im¬ 
portant section of our social institutions, insu¬ 
rance societies, in all their varieties, is found¬ 
ed upon our desire of it, and may be regarded 
as so many breakwaters thrown up against 
the dreaded waves of uncertainty, in the 
midst of which we are destined to lead our 
lives. After long years of incessant toil; af¬ 
ter the limbs have been stiffened with labor, 
or the brain wasted with thought, or the heart 
shrivelled with feverish longing, one in a 
thousand attains to an independence which is 
built upon the world’s riches. Society is 
pledged to find him in food and raiment, 
though thousands should be in want of both. 

O 

But society can discharge its obligations to 
him only if the seasons are favorable; or, if 
it does so in unfavorable seasons, it is at the 
expense of hunger and nakedness to many of 
its members. For, we repeat it, the world, as 
a whole, is poor; there is no accumulation of 
real wealth in the richest nation. Poverty is 
the constant companion of the millions of the 
human family. Starvation is often within a 
day’s march of countless multitudes of them ; 
once a year is within a month of them all. 
But God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb ; 
and the providence which gives to this large 
family its daily bread, while it presents a 
sublime fact upon which faith, which is bet¬ 
ter than independence, can rest in peace, ad¬ 
ministers a severe reproof to that faithless 
faintheartedness which is too often the prin¬ 
cipal motive to the pursuit of the phantom 
independence. 

Judgment. —The most necessary talent in 
a man of conversation, is a good judgment. 
He that has this in perfection is master of his 
companion, without letting him see it; and 
has the same advantage over men of other 
qualifications, as one that can see would have 
over a blind man of ten times his strength. 


A RAMBLING ESSAY UPON ROOMS. 

We are inclined to think that the romance 
of life lies upon its outskirts. Society is but 
human nature seen through a prism, with its 
rim only fringed with the tints of poetry. In 
a little seacoast town in Massachusetts, we 
found more of the pure spirit of romance than 
we have ever met in the most crowded cities 
or the most fashionable society. It was a 
gloomy morning, and a drizzling rain rough¬ 
ened the air, when we set out upon our expe¬ 
dition. But, seated in a high-backed chair, 
in an old weather-beaten and timeworn room, 
we defied the day, and plotted the writing of 
this essay on rooms. 

On first entering, we knocked our head 
against the low rafters, which projected from 
the ceiling. We forgive the injury in con¬ 
sideration of the compliment to our stature. 
The occupant of the room, an old withered 
woman, rose at our entrance, greeted us cor¬ 
dially, and gave us the old-fashioned, high- 
backed chair for our seat. We had now 
leisure to look about us, and make an accurate 
survey of the room. The unplastered, rough 
walls, and the bold, out-jutting rafters of the 
ceiling, were imbued with a brown rich color, 
which the smoke of many years had lent. A 
small fire was burning on the board hearth, 
over which swung a simmering kettle, while 
the faint line of blue smoke curled up the 
deep black throat of the chimney. The 
chimney was of no modern date, and con¬ 
structed on no utilitarian principles. Its 
breadth and depth were so great, that, with¬ 
out inconvenience from the heat, three or 
four could sit within its wide arms, and en¬ 
liven a long winter evening with gossiping 
tales. Bending forward, we could look out 
into the sky and see the lazy clouds trailing 
overhead. The unpainted floor was thinly 
spread with scattered patches of carpet; and 
on the faded rug, which covered the hearth, 
sat an old gray, purring cat. Through the 
diamonded panes of the narrow windows, the 
eye looked out upon the leaden gray of the 
ocean, fringed with white foam, where the 
surge kept beating upon the ragged line of 
rocks. An old oaken chest of drawers stood 
in the corner, crowned with a row of old cups; 
and the high mantal-piece was covered with 
bits of china, and dingy broken glass. These, 
with the rusty bluish-brown coverlet, thrown 
over the bed in the corner, and strangely 
harmonizing with the general color of the room, 
completed its contents. Opposite us sat our 
aged hostess, with her mob-cap tied snugly 
under her chin, and sitting in a stuffed high 
chair, from which to the wall was swung an 
old green cloak, to protect her back from the 
cold air which whistled through the chinks 














374 


A RAMBLING ESSAY UPON ROOMS. 


of a closet-door behind her. In a low, trem¬ 
ulous voice, interrupted by asthmatic pauses, 
she went on crooning to us of the old legends 
of the place. She told us of dreadful ghosts, 
and signs, and omens, authenticating them all, 
and throwing the weight of her own belief 
into the balance—of dead men, lost at sea, 
who came, all dripping, up the rigging of oth¬ 
er ships, at night—of sailors, who returned, 
after death, to their widows, while sitting 
over their lonely fires at midnight, listening 
to the howling of the storm—until the air 
grew misty, and a sort of thrill came over us, 
and we waited to see some supernatural shape 
rise up before us. Nowhere else than in that 
old, dim room, could such stories have been 
told with effect in the noon of the day. But 
the place was weather-beaten and rusty, the 
light was deprived of its cheerfulness by the 
dingy panes, and the hoarse under-tone of the 
surge kept up a ghastly accompaniment to her 
quivering voice. When we left her, the day 
seemed unnatural and too bright. So we 
wandered to the shore to hear the breaking 
surf, and accustom ourselves to the daylight. 

We are all pieces of furniture. As the 
trees across a stream grow toward each other, 
and interclasp their boughs, grow these na¬ 
tures of ours to that which is next them. 
The invisible tendrils of affection spread out 
on every side, and, like the innumerable 
threads that bound Gulliver to the ground, 
they fasten us to places, and things, and per¬ 
sons. No one can separate himself from his 
room. His home is a sacred place, and a 
sacred feeling. The young spirit seems to 
have left some traces of itself there. In our 
room, the spirits of our friends are around us. 
The old conversations that once moulded the 
air into music are there still. The conscious¬ 
ness of having been happy in a place, lends a 
reflection of light to cheer our overshaded 
moods. All our thoughts have a dwelling- 
place in our room. What an old, familiar 
greeting do the chairs, books, and tables, give! 
They seem to invite us to them. The sun¬ 
light there is appropriated; it is not common 
sunlight, but the same that slanted through 
the windows years ago; it comes back every 
morning laden with the freight of all preceding 
mornings. All the joys of the summer-days 
of our youth are in the breeze that stirs 
through the room, and ruffles the leaves of 
our books. It seems as if joy was a perfume 
that time could never efface from the places 
wherein the spirit exhaled it. 

Man is as much a thing as a thinker. AVe 
are uneasy at writing in a foreign place. It 
takes weeks and months ere we can become 
accustomed to a new room, and then it is but 
a poor substitute for the old, time-hallowed 
one. The mind can not break away from the 


thraldom of place. The boy who could not 
spell his word because he had not got the 
“ hang” of the new school-house, was not 
altogether in the wrong; and the world may 
have done injustice to the old traveller, who 
had jumped a great jump in the island of 
Rhodes, but could do it nowhere else. We 
seem made up of little sympathies, which take 
a bias from the most trivial facts and occur¬ 
rences. The strongest tide of thought is turn¬ 
ed aside by a feather. Even thinking seems 
to be but a constant series of impulses from 
external facts and incidents, and from recol¬ 
lections and reminiscences. Goethe would 
have no luxurious furniture in his room, for 
fear that his thoughts would lose their mascu¬ 
line vigor and force, by receiving an insensi¬ 
ble inflection from them. His study is bar¬ 
ren of ornament, and studiously simple; so is 
his style. Some people write their lives by 
tables, and chairs, and sofas; others with 
pen, and ink, and thought. We think that 
we may see the peculiar character of certain 
of our writers, expressed quite distinctly, by 
their rooms. The hard, nervous strength of 
Luther was begotten of that mine in which 
his youth was spent, and his emergence into 
day aptty typifies the part he played in after¬ 
life. Tennyson’s “ little room so exquisite,” 
accounts for all the defects in his style. So 
is Walter Scott’s room, with its suits of ar¬ 
mor, and claymore, and shield, and antlers, 
and staghound, and its thousand old curiosi¬ 
ties, the happiest illustration of his style and 
character as a writer—both a curious piece 
of grotesque patchwork—the bold energy and 
endurance of the age of chivalry still keeping 
a place among the refinements and effemina¬ 
cies of modem life. No comer of his mind 
was destitute of some quaint bit of a story 
and ballad, and his collection of facts was a 
perfect “ curiosity-shop.” The grand back¬ 
ground of his room is nature bold and strong, 
but distant and in perspective. The same is 
the fact in his writings. Nature is boldly 
sketched, but its minute traits and workings 
are lost by distance, and are subordinated to 
the love of costume and tradition. 

By a room, we mean a room par excellence , 
not a general rendezvous of the whole family, 
but the private room of the individual—the 
library of the literary man—the studio of the 
artist—the inmost shrine—the appropriated 
spot. The parlor is no room at all—it is a 
compromise of all the tastes of the house. All 
the arrangements are referred to the standard 
of fashion, and there is almost no scope for 
the individual fancy of the owner. 

We would always have a room in one of 
the upper stories, if we lived in the city. 
In the country, it is not of so much import¬ 
ance. There, one may have vines curling 














about the window-sills, and peeping into the 
room—-the green trees waving their broad 
arms in the air, and the dancing shadows on 
the green sward beneath you. Then, in the 
country, and in summer, one can make the 
whole sky his roof, and, embowered in a 
“ place of" nestling green,” almost forget his 
walled-in room. But in the city, that world 
of brick and mortar, give us the topmost room. 
It is a wearisome trudge up over three flights 
of stairs, but you get your recompense. There 
is less dust and noise—people are not for ever 
tramping by your door; it is too high to make 
it a convenient lounging-place for idlers; and 
if friendship is not a sufficient inducement to 
your friends, they are not worth regretting. 
You see the diminished people walking noise¬ 
lessly through the streets, as in a panorama. 
If you have a lower room, your sunset is the 
light shining from the opposite wall of brick. 
Ha ving become thoroughly tired of this, we 
have a room in the fourth storv. We can 

^ %J 

sit now above the city, and be “alone with 
the night.” Beneath us gleam the lamps in 
the sleeping chambers; all around us a thou¬ 
sand hearts are beating, and a thousand heads 
rest upon their pillows; the mighty shadow 
of sleep is upon the city; the silent moon¬ 
light glances upon the vanes and the skylights, 
and freckles the distant, slowly-gliding river; 
the noise of revelry comes dim and faint from 
the streets; now and then, some one goes 
whistling by, and the sharp ring of his heel 
upon the pavement echoes through the de¬ 
serted courts. In the daytime, a thousand 
roofs send up their thin, curling lines of smoke, 
that, mingling, hang a cloudy veil over the 
city. Overlooking the tops of the houses, 
we can see the rim of the ocean; countless 
ships, with lithe spars and fluttering streamers, 
lie sleeping at their posts; vessels, with their 
sails widespread, are coming up the horizon, 
and, as the sunlight strikes flat against the 
white canvass, they look like sea-gulls spread¬ 
ing their wings for flight. Looking in another 
direction, we see the undulating line of hills, 
shrouded in a bluish haze, and melting into 
the sky. Is not all this worth coming up two 
more flights of stairs to have ? 

A room should have a picture in it; either 
an ideal head, or some dreamed landscape. 
A picture is like a beautiful window to the 
blank wall, which the sunshine never leaves, 
whereon the eye, weary with reading, may 
luxuriate and bathe, in a new and exhilarating 
atmosphere. They refine us, insensibly; they 
help thinking, and are full of suggestion ; they 
are peaceful, unobtrusive friends, who wait 
your leisure ; they are the cherished thought 
of some human mind—the fixed fragrance of 
some passing sentiment and emotion—and are 
transcripts of the happiest moments. We I 


would have flowers, too, in our room ; they 
are so full of the warmth of humanity ; noth¬ 
ing is so like a human being as a flower. 
Then what an air of delicacy and refinement 
is lent to a room, by pictures and flowers! 
Surely we read the clear, kind nature, and 
genial humor of Jean Paul, when we saw the 
rose in his button-hole! Here was the token 
that he was a poet. 

The influences under which we are bred, 
domineer over us. We are like soft wax, 
taking the impression of all about us. The 
country child, whose room is nature, whose 
roof is the sky, whose curtains are the purple 
clouds of sunset, and whose carpet is the 
grass, is free, vigorous, and healthy, in her 
movements and thoughts, as the air that she 
breathes. The city belle, who grows up un¬ 
der the shade of brick walls, inhaling noisome 
vapors, deprived of the healthy exercise of 
her limbs, and “cribbed, cabined, and con¬ 
fined” in narrow streets, becomes puny and 
sickly, and fades early. The eyes of the 
one see the cows and sheep feeding far out on 
the distant bills, while those of the other 
hardly distinguish a face across the room. 
The thoughts of the one are bold, free, and 
untrammelled, like the flights of the eagle— 
those of the other, forced and conventional, 
like the feeble hoppings of a caged canary. 

One may easily trace the rise and progress 
of a nation out of its barbarism, by the sim¬ 
ple observation of their rooms. From the 
rude hut of the savage, which was common 
to all the occupants, to the modern commodi¬ 
ous house, with its appropriated rooms— 
what a distance ? So out of a general elanish 
nature, grows slowly the individual nature. 
Society, at first one mass, becomes articulated 
into persons, as the body separates into fingers 
at the extremities: each man has his peculiar 
employment, according to his individual ge¬ 
nius; and thus the huge machine of society 
becomes gradually perfected in all its parts. 
Among savages these is one general trait and 
employment, and therefore, there is one com¬ 
mon room. In civilized life each has a dif¬ 
ferent part to perform; all work is apportion¬ 
ed, and each lias his own room. 

As we can tell the size and formation of 
the tortoise from the shell which remains, so, 
were all history washed away, and the ancient 
cities left, we'could easily tell the manners, 
habits, and genius of the people who built 
and inhabited them. Within one century, 
the city of Pompeii has been excavated— 
that crumbled shell of a dead people. The 
perfect preservation of this onecity has thrown 
a flood of light over the Roman institutions 
and character, as well as given us the perfect 
knowledge of the habits and genius of the 
Pompeiians. The soul of it has, indeed, 


; 













S76 


A RAMBLING ESSAY UPON ROOMS. 


passed away; but the naturalist easily tells 
the psyche, from the chrysalis that remains. 
Observe how perfectly the genius of the 
Grecian age, and even of its different districts, 
is developed in its architecture—the graceful 
and ornate Corinthian, with its curling leaves 
and fluted columns—the delicate and chaste 
Ionic, and the more stately and sober Doric; 
then, the transplanted composite order of 
Roman architecture; and last, that splendid 
stone flower of the middle ages, the Gothic 
cathedral! 

What but a narrow room, wherein the 
spirit dwelleth, is this body—this frame of 
bones, this covering of muscle, but a moving 
house ! The soul sits looking from the win¬ 
dows of the eyes, and can not hide itself from 
observation. Out of the mouth, which is its 
door, issue the softly-coined words, that tissue 
of melodious air, whose invincible nets are 
woven around the soul of him who hears. 
Within the brain lie stored, as in a magazine, 
the curiously-elaborated thoughts, the wild 
project, the dreams, fancies, experiences, and 
facts, that we have gathered from foreign 
sources, or that have had their birth in our 
own soul. Then, how strangely out of order 
seem these materials in some brains, how 
perfectly and precisely arranged in others! 
How gracefully and easily does one spirit 
move about this strange house, while another 
can never fit himself to his home, but is ever 
awkward and ungainly ! In this natural 
house, the soul makes its marks and leaves 
its impressions, moulding and modifying con¬ 
tinually, until the strong soul draws his out¬ 
ward covering closely around it, and fits it to 
itself, as perfectly as the kernel of the nut to 
its intersected shell. 

For all our friends our wish is, that they 
may possess the chamber wherein the pilgrim 
lodged, according to the allegory of old John 
Bunyan. Somehow the passage has a sweet 
flavor and delicious quaintness, which he, 
among those earnest and sincere old English 
writers, most especially possesses: “ The 
pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber, 
whose window opened toward the sunrising. 
The name of this chamber was Peace, where 
he slept till break of day, and then he awoke 
and sang.” 

How full of character is the room of the 
painter 1 All there is dim and hazy with 
sentiment. From the moment that you close 
the door behind you, you feel as if you had 
shut out the world. There, rank takes no 
pre-eminence. The artist is the monarch. 
Here is the true luxury of work—the intel¬ 
lectual married to the mechanical, and love 
of the art prompting each motion of the pen¬ 
cil. The light streams in, deprived of its sun¬ 
shine, through the partly closed blind. Slant¬ 


ing toward it, stands the easel, upon which 
lies a half-finished picture. The painter, 
with his palette and brushes in one hand, and 
his magical wand in the other, moves this 
way and that, lends a tint here and a shadow 
there, all the time throwing in, carelessly an 
observation. The outlines are all dim and 
rounded, and there is a smell of paint in the 
room. Here stands the velvet chair, on its 
slightly elevated platform—the throne of the 
sitter; there stands the graceless draped lay- 
figure. There are no harsh noises—no bustle; 
all is quiet, and has a secluded air of silence. 
The noise of the passing wagons in the streets, 
if it attracts attention, seems foreign, and a 
consciousness that you are alone seems dif¬ 
fused through it. The painter talks much of 
his art; tells an anecdote of this artist and 
that; speaks of such and such a picture, and 
illustrates his remark by turning round to you 
one of the faces of those canvasses which 
have piqued your curiosity ever since your 
entrance : and thus in his studio lives the 
artist. The painting-room must be like Eden 
before the fall: no joyless turbulent passions 
must enter there. 

Time out of mind, the garret has been ap¬ 
propriated to genius, perhaps from an occult 
pun. Whether attic wit has received, latter¬ 
ly, a different modification or not, we leave 
to the opinion of our readers. But the strug¬ 
gles of genius under the weight of poverty 
and sickness, and “ all the ills that flesh is 
heir to,” have made it, in some respects, a 
sacred place. Sorrow and misfortune, and 
the fierce flame of longing, and the illumina¬ 
tion of hope, blend into an aureole to crown 
it. From its sill, the winged bird of poetry 
has flown—on its hearth the flame of humor 
and wit has burned—from its windows the 
stinging arrows of sarcasm have been shot— 
and within its walls, the souls of men have 
become mailed and armed by misfortune. 

If we judged correctly of human character, 
we should admit that the mechanic who made 
the chair in which Xerxes sat, when he re¬ 
viewed his mighty host, or witnessed the sea- 
fight at Salamis, was a more useful member 
of society than that great king—and, that the 
artisans who constructed the drinking vessels 
of Mardonius, and the brass mangers in which 
his horses were fed, were really more worthy 
of posthumous fame, than that general, or the 
monarch he served: and, if it be more virtu¬ 
ous, more praiseworthy, to alleviate human 
sufferings than to cause or increase them, 
then that old mechanician, who, when Mar¬ 
cus Sergius lost his hand in the Punic war, 
furnished him with an iron one, was an in¬ 
comparably better man, than that or any oth¬ 
er mere warrior. 

















































































































































































































































































































































































WEST POINT. 


378 


WEST POINT. 

The engraving we have presented on the 
previous page may give to those of our read¬ 
ers who never beheld the original, some idea 
of the picturesque beauties of West Point. 
To be f ully realized, however, it needs to be 
seen ; for it is not within the utmost scope of 
the limner’s pencil or the graver’s art to do 
full justice to the magnificent river and moun¬ 
tain scenery there displayed. There, indeed, 
does the Hudson appear “ an immense mirror 
in its mountain frame.” All that is grand in 
the prospect of rock and mountain, or beauti¬ 
ful in the waves of a broad, deep river, or 
venerable from the associations of history 
and patriotism, may be seen combined in the 
landscape of West Point. To the left of our 
picture may be seen—eloquent in its very 
simplicity—the monument to Kosciusko, the 
brave Polander, who fought in our revolution, 
and afterward battled, martyr-like, for the 
freedom of his native land. 

Indeed, the spot is as remarkable for mem¬ 
ories of the past, as for its extraordinary 
prospect of “ mountain and flood.” Hallow¬ 
ed by the footsteps of Washington and Kos¬ 
ciusko—consecrated by a nation to the Spar¬ 
tanlike training of a few devoted sons—nor 
less sacredly secluded by nature as the scene 
of retirement and study—it seems alike cal¬ 
culated to please the pensive sage and the as¬ 
piring youthful soldier. 

“ Bright are the memories linked with thee, 
Boast of a glory-hallowed land ; 

Hope of the valiant and the free, 

Home of their youthful soldier-band.” 

If each bright spot on earth is indeed be- 
nignantly shone upon by some “ bright, par¬ 
ticular star,” in night’s splendid canopy, then 
may we hope that one interwoven in “ mem¬ 
ory’s web,” with such glorious associations, 
is under no despicable influence. 

West Point is situated upon the west 
bank of the Hudson, where the river makes 
an angle forming the point from which it de¬ 
rives its name. It was strongly fortified dur¬ 
ing the revolutionary war, and on Mount In¬ 
dependence, elevated five hundred feet above 
the level of the river, still stands Fort Put¬ 
nam, venerable in its ruins, stern monument 
of a sterner age, which survived the assaults 
of the minions of tyranny from without and 
the insidious attempts of treason within. It 
was here that Washington, while gliding over 
the river in his barge, observed the mountain 
tinged on its summit by the rising sun, ex¬ 
claimed : “ It is strange that General Arnold 
does not salute us. The effect of the cannon 
would be very grand among these mountain- 
gorges !” But no salute greeted the approach¬ 


ing chief, for the traitor Arnold had already 
fled to the “ Vulture,” then anchored in the 
channel, and his wife was alone in her deso¬ 
late home, on the opposite shore. Washing¬ 
ton stepped on the shore of West Point, ac¬ 
companied by La Fayette, and Hamilton— 
the fortress was silent and almost untenanted. 
Everything was ready for the work of treason, 
but the hand of Providence w r as over all, and 
the schemes of the traitor, ended in his own 
disgrace, and the death of his friend, John 
Andre, a distinguished young British officer, 
whose sad fate has been regretted by many, 
among both friends and foes. 

The United States Military Academy, 
which was contemplated at an early period 
of our national existence, with a view to the 
acquisition of scientific and military knowl¬ 
edge, and the enforcement of a uniform dis¬ 
cipline in the army, was established here in 
1802. It is situated on a plain one hundred 
and fifty-seven feet above tide-water. The 
old buildings, first occupied by the Academy, 
have long since gone to decay, and been 
replaced by the present structures. They 
consist of two stone barracks ; a building for 
exercises in winter, two hundred and seventy- 
live feet long; a building of Gothic architec¬ 
ture, one hundred and fifty feet long, with 
three towers for astronomical apparatus and 
an observatory ; a chapel, hospital, mess-hall, 
seventeen separate dwellings for the officers 
of the institution, several workshops, and 
storerooms, cavalry stables, a magazine, lab¬ 
oratory, soldiers’ barracks, a store, and about 
twenty-five dwellings for families connected 
with the establishment. There is also an ex¬ 
tensive hotel situated on the bank of the river. 

The annual expense of the academy is 
about $120,000, averaging about $425 for 
each cadet. This is one fourth less than the 
average cost of each cadet, prior to 1817, 
which was not less than $550 per annum. 
The library is well selected, of military, sci¬ 
entific and historical works, containing nearly 
10,000 volumes. The philosophical appara¬ 
tus lately received from France is extensive, 
and constructed with the latest improvements. 
The chymical laboratory, and mineralogical 
cabinet yet require enlargement. 

The months of July and August, in each 
year, are devoted solely to military exercises; 
for which purpose, the cadets leave the bar¬ 
racks and encamp in tents on the plain, under 
the regular police and discipline of an army 
in time of war. They return from camp to 
barracks the last of August, and the remain¬ 
ing ten months of the academic year are de¬ 
voted to their arduous studies. The cere¬ 
mony of striking the tents and marching out 
of camp, is so imposing as to be well worth 
an effort of the visiter to be present on that 









r 


HABITS OF THE ROMAN LADIES. 379 


occasion. On the previous evening, the camp 
is brilliantly illuminated, and enlivened with 
music, dancing, and bevies of beautiful stran¬ 
gers ; it presents quite a fairy scene. 

The studies of the first year, are algebra, 
geometry, descriptive geometry, trigonometry, 
and the French language. All the mathemat¬ 
ical studies are practically taught and applied 
to numerous problems not in the books ; on 
the resolution of which greatly depend the 
reputation and standing of each rival candi¬ 
date for pre-eminence. The studies of the 
second year, are the theory of shades, shad¬ 
ows, and perspective, practically illustrated ; 
analytic geometry, with its application to 
conic sections ; the integral and differential 
calculus, or science of fluxions; surveying 
and mensuration; the French language, and 
the elements of drawing, embracing the hu¬ 
man figure in crayon. This completes the 
course of mathematics, and also of French; 
which the cadets learn to translate freely, as 
a key to military science, but which few of 
them speak fluently. 

The third year is devoted to a course of 
national philosophy, including mechanics; 
optics, electricity, magnetism, and astronomy ; 
together with cliymistry, and sketching land¬ 
scapes with the pencil, and topography with 
the pen, which complete the course of draw¬ 
ing. 

The fourth and last year is appropriated to 
the study of artillery and infantry tactics; 
the science of war, and fortification, or mili¬ 
tary engineering; a course of civil engineer- 
in», embracing the construction of roads and 
bridges, railroads and canals, with the im¬ 
provement of rivers and harbors ; a course of 
mineralogy and military pyrotechny ; togeth¬ 
er with the elements of rhetoric, moral phi¬ 
losophy, and national and constitutional law. 

The graduates of the military academy are 
entitled by law to a preference over other ap¬ 
plicants for commissions in the army. As the 
average number of vacancies is only about 
twenty-five annually, the army would soon be 
more than filled, did not a considerable num¬ 
ber of the graduates voluntarily resign, in 
order to embrace other professions, particu¬ 
larly that of civil engineering. Although 
feeling under a moral obligation, to offer their 
services to the country in any emergency, as 
many did in the late war with Mexico, they 
deem it right, as it is freely permitted, in 
time of peace, to embrace other professions 
in which they may seek to be still more use¬ 
ful. Those who remain in the army are at¬ 
tached as brevet second lieutenants to the dif¬ 
ferent corps, until they may receive higher 
rank on the occurrence of vacancies. 

It is the great distinction of the academy at 
West Point, that it has contributed largely 


and effectually to the elevation of the charac¬ 
ter of the military establishment. And it has 
accomplished a nobler service, by sending 
forth numbers annually, competent to super¬ 
intend the construction of those chains of in¬ 
ternal improvement, which are to be the eter¬ 
nal bonds of our national union. The rail¬ 
roads which connect the interior with the 
seabord—the improved facilities of communi¬ 
cation afforded to the whole country—the new 
roads which have augmented the wealth of 
the West, by opening new channels of com¬ 
munication—and the securities extended to 
the internal and foreign commerce of the na¬ 
tion, by the river and harbor improvements— 
these are some of the enduring memorials of 
the usefulness of the Military Academy, and 
of the returns it has made for the care and 
time, and money, which have been bestowed 
upon it. Other testimonials and other re¬ 
wards have been accorded to it, by the liter¬ 
ary institutions of our country which have 
invited its graduates to fill important profes¬ 
sorships. No words can demonstrate with 
one half the force and impressiveness, the 
beneficial influence of the Military Academy, 
upon the characters of its members, and upon 
the national reputation. Within the short 
period of forty years, this institution, whose 
own high reputation is now sustained by pro¬ 
fessors, most of whom, have been educated 
within its walls, has not only furnished to the 
army gallant and accomplished officers, and 
to the country skilful engineers, but has sent 
forth principals, and professors, to ornament 
and sustain colleges and literary seminaries. 

But while w r e would thus award honor, 
where honor is due, and show that, estimated 
according to her contribution of national sci¬ 
ence, the Military Academy takes a high 
stand, far be it from her sons to monopolize 
distinction, or to say that she has done more 
than a Military Academy ought to have done, 
in return for all her advantages. 


HABITS OF THE ROMAN LADIES. 

It h as been remarked that “ a fondness for 
adorning the person for the sake of obtaining 
admiration from men, is natural to all wo¬ 
men.’’ Now allowing this to be true, surely 
no one can condemn so laudable a desire of 
pleasing on the part of the fair sex, whatever 
may be" its ulterior object. The female mind, 
for the most part, has so few important con¬ 
siderations wherewith to occupy itself, and so 
few opportunities of publicly displaying its 
judgment and taste, except in matters of dress, 
that we can not wonder at seeing so much at- 











380 HABITS OF THE ROMAN LADIES. 


j tention paid to it by women of every class; 
besides, when it is remembered that the 
amount expended by ladies in articles of dress 
and bijouterie by far exceeds that of the 
“lords of the creation” for the same purpose, 
a female fondness for fashion must always be 
considered as a national blessing, and one of 
the many advantages derived from a splendid 
court. We would, however, by no means be 
understood as advocating that excessive love 
of dress which is indulged in by some, reck¬ 
less of all consequences, and which would 
almost induce them, Tarpeia-like, to sacrifice 
their country for a bracelet. The opening 
remark was made on the Roman ladies two 
thousand years ago, and it is of their differ¬ 
ent dresses that we now propose to treat; 
these, in splendor, richness, and gracefulness, 
were not surpassed even by those of the pres¬ 
ent day, if we may judge from the little in¬ 
sight afforded us by old Latin writers into the 
mysteries of a Roman lady’s toilet. 

The ladies of ancient Rome rose early, and 
immediately enjoyed the luxury of the bath, 
which was sometimes of perfumed water; they 
then underwent a process of polishing with 
pumice-stone for the purpose of smoothing 
the skin, and after being anointed with rich 
perfumes, they threw around them a loose 
robe and retired to their dressing-rooms, where 
they received morning visits from their friends, 
and discussed the merits of the last eloquent 
speech delivered in the senate, or the proba¬ 
ble conqueror in the next gladiatorial combat. 
After the departure of their visiters com¬ 
menced the business of the toilet, which occu¬ 
pied a considerable portion of time ; the 
maids were summoned, to each of whom a 
different duty was assigned : some formed a 
kind of council, and only looked on to direct 
and assist the others by their advice and ex¬ 
perience; one held the mirror before her mis¬ 
tress ; while others there were to whom it 
was a 

“-constant care 

The bodkin, comb, and essence, to prepare.” 

With the exception of the looking-glass, 
the articles of the toilet were much the same 
as those in use at present. The glass, or 
more properly speaking, mirror, was composed 
of a highly-polished plate of metal,* generally 
silver, richly chased around the edges, and 
adorned with precious stones ; this was not 
fixed in a frame like the modern glass, but 
held by a slave. The combs were formed of 
ivory and rosewood. Curling-tongs, bodkins, 
and hair-pins, were also known; the former 
was a simple bar of iron heated in the fire, 
around which the hair was turned in order to 

* Looking-glasses were known to the Romans, and 
obtained from the Phoenicians, but they were not in 
general use. | 


produce a curl; the two latter were made of 
gold and silver, and ornamented with pearls; 
it was probably with one of these bodkins 
that Cleopatra gave herself a death-wound, 
and not, as is commonly supposed, with an 
adder. 

The use of perfumes, cosmetics, and depil¬ 
atories, prevailed to a great extent among the 
Romans ; the first were obtained at a consid¬ 
erable expense from India, Greece, and Per¬ 
sia ; there are still in existence a few recipes 
for making the cosmetics used two thousand 
years ago, and which will be found to have 
many ingredients in common with similar 
preparations of our own time. Ovid gives 
the following, and adds that those who use it 
will possess a complexion smoother than the 
surface of their polished mirrors : “ Take two 
pounds of Lybian barley, free from straw 
and chaff, and an equal quantity of the pea 
of the wild vetch, mix these with ten eggs, 
let it harden, and pound it, add two ounces of 
hartshorn, and a dozen roots of the narcissus 
bruised in a mortar, two ounces of gum, and 
two ounces of meal; reduce the whole to a 
powder, sift it, and add nine times the quan¬ 
tity of honey.” Some used poppy juice and 
water, and others a pap or poultice of bread 
and milk, with which they completely cov¬ 
ered the face, and kept on in their own hou¬ 
ses; this, when removed, left the skin smooth 
and fair. Depilatories were used to form and 
adorn the eyebrows, which it was considered 
elegant to have joined across the nose. 

On one part of a Roman lady’s dressing- 
table might be seen her small silver tooth¬ 
brush, which, with the assistance of a little 
pure water, and occasionally a powder of mas¬ 
tic wood, formed her only dentifrice; near it 
stood a paper containing a black powder, 
which when ignited sent up a volume of thick 
smoke, and had the valuable property of re¬ 
storing the eyes to their former brilliancy, if 
weakened by the gayety of the preceding 
evening, or by a sleepfess night occasioned by 
the constant serenades of her lover beneath 
her window. Here was a bottle of the per¬ 
fume of Paestum, and there a box of rouge, 
and another of hair dye ; on another part lay 
a large coil or braid of false hair, made up by 
a male hair-dresser, and near it were the 
bodkins, the chains, the rings, and hard by 
the richly-studded bands of white and purple 
which adorned the head ; this braid was worn 
on the crown of the head, the hair from the 
nape of the neck being all pulled out by the 
roots. Continual changes were taking place 
in the fashion of wearing the hair; at first it 
was cut off as a votive offering to the gods, 
but the Roman ladies soon discovered that “a 
luxuriant head of hair was a powerful auxil¬ 
iary of female beauty,” and allowed it to 











HABITS OF THE ROMAN LADIES. 381 


grow; at one time it was worn high in hows 
with a range of curls in front; at another d- 
la-grecque ; then allowed to float in the air 
in a dishevelled state, and again a-la-militaire 
in the form of a helmet. Light hair was 
sometimes worn over that of a naturally dark 
shade, auburn being the color most esteemed 
and admired by both sexes; those who had 
white or dark hair used saffron as a dye to 
give it an auburn tinge. Some ladies used 
gold dust as a hair powder, “ which shed such 
a ray of glory around them as dazzled all be¬ 
holders, and gave their heads an appearance 
of being on fire.” When the ladies did not 
“wear the hair,” they wore a kind of veil 
and a turban or bonnet, called mitra ; this 
was like a bishop’s mitre in shape but not so 
high, and with a lappet hanging over each 
cheek, something, in short, like a modern 
mob-cap, which elegant head-dress owes its 
origin, no doubt, to the classical mitre; thus 
has the Roman female head-dress descended 
to our times, not only as one of the insignia 
of the members of the right reverend bench, 
but also in the shape of a covering for the do¬ 
mestic matrons. 

After having performed their ablutions, and 
gone through all the little delicate offices of 
making the complexion, perfuming the per¬ 
son, and endeavoring by art to excel nature, 
the Roman ladies were prepared to put on 
their costly garments, which were duly pro¬ 
duced by the slave who had the honorable 
post of “mistress of the robes.” In the earlier 
ages the under garment—which in other re¬ 
spects differed little from the modern—was 
worn as high as the chin and down to the feet, 
so as to leave no part of the person visible 
except the face; in time, however, it was cut 
lower and shortened ; over this was worn the 
tunica, a dress composed of many folds, open at 
the sides and with sleeves; these sleeves were 
left open from the shoulder to the wrist, and fas¬ 
tened with clasps of gold and silver; one end of 
the tunica was fixed to the left shoulder, while 
the other was carried across the breast and 
fell negligently over the right shoulder till it 
touched the ground ; this train was generally 
carried over the arm when walking, so as to 
show the right ankle; but it was considered 
neglige and graceful to allow it to drag on the 
ground instead of holding it up, and conse¬ 
quently was a custom much in vogue among 
the distinguees of ancient Rome. This was 
the dress worn during the republic, but it is 
difficult to obtain a correct description of it 
from the very vague accounts handed down 
to us; probably, as in most republics, little 
attention was paid to dress, at all events it 
was plain and simple. It was not until 
the time of the emperors that the goddess 
of Fashion reared her head in the capital 


of the world, when, though considerable 
alterations took place in dress, yet a few 
traits of the former style were retained. The 
number of garments worn varied according to 
the temperature of the wearer; they were 
generally three : the first was the simple 
vest; the second a kind of petticoat richly 
worked in front and surrounded at the waist 
by a belt, which answered the purpose of a 
corset and was formed in front like a stom¬ 
acher, richly studded with jewels ; then came 
the third garment, the stola, which entirely 
superseded the use of the ancient tunica ; 
this was a robe with a small train, trimmed 
at the bottom with a deep border of purple 
and gold ; it was confined at the waist by a 
belt, and the upper part thrown back so as to 
discover the embroidered front of the second 
garment or petticoat; on this front was worn 
the laticlave , an order or decoration of the 
empire granted to distinguished men, and 
sometimes assumed by females in right of 
their husbands.* Over all these was worn 
the palla or cloak, with a train of some yards 
in length, which fell from the shoulders, 
where it was fastened by two richly orna¬ 
mented Jibulce or clasps ; this train was trim¬ 
med with gold and silver, and sometimes with 
precious stones, and was usually carried over 
the left shoulder in the manner of the ample 
roquclaure worn by gentlemen. It will be 
seen from the above description that there is 
a considerable resemblance between the an¬ 
cient Roman dress and the modern court 
dress, the former perhaps exceeding the latter 
in gracefulness and elegance of appearance, 
from its numerous folds and flowing outline. 
The materials of which these dresses were 
composed were silk, cashmere, and linen. 
Embroidery was procured from the Phoeni¬ 
cians and Assyrians; the former was most 
esteemed as it was raised, while the latter 
was smooth with the surface of the cloth. 
The only color used for robes was white 
trimmed with purple, colored clothes not be¬ 
ing considered “ comme il fauV among the 
higher orders at Rome. 

The Roman stocking was of silk, generally 
pink or flesh-colored, over which was worn a 
shoe or rather boot reaching above the ankle, 
turned up at the point like a Chinese shoe, 
and laced up from the instep tight to the leg. 
This boot was made of white leather or the 
papyrus bark, ornamented with gold, silver, 
and jewels. Sandals were also in use ; they 
consisted of a simple sole with riband attached 
to it, and was laced up like a modem sandal, 

* Orders were sometimes conferred on ladies. The 
senate granted a riband of a peculiar pattern to the 
wife and mother of Coriolanus, to he worn by them 
in consideration of valuable services performed to 
the state. 








INFANT EDUCATION. 



at the same time supplying the place of a 
garter by keeping the stocking up. We are 
informed that coquettes used cork-soles and 
false insteps of cork, but never disfigured 
their persons by the barbarian ornaments of 
necklace, ring, or ear-ring. 

After the Roman lady had completed her 
toilet she sallied out, followed by a slave, for 
a promenade beneath the porticoes of the Fo- 
rum, where she could not only cheapen goods, 
but also hear what was going on in the law 
courts ; after continuing her walk up the gen¬ 
tle ascent of the gay and crowded Suburra 
street, she returned to her own house, the 
threshold of which (if she happened to be un¬ 
married) was adorned with garlands of flow¬ 
ers, placed there by her young patrician ad¬ 
mirers ; some of these flowers her attendants 
collected to fill the splendid vase which stood 
in her chamber, and preceded her to draw 
aside the curtain which supplied the place of 
a door into the tapestried and perfumed apart¬ 
ment ; here she enters, and sinking softly 
down into an ivory and gold adorned chair, 
she is welcomed by the chirping notes of her 
favorite bird which hangs near in a gilded 
cage. By her side stands a beautiful page, 
who gently wafts a plume of peacocks’ feath¬ 
ers around her head, while a slave presents a 
small stick wrapped around with, apparently, 
a roll of straw-colored riband, but in reality 
it is a letter from the young Emilius, who 
adopts this mode of writing in preference to 
the usual waxen tablet, not only because it is 
a fashion introduced from Greece, but be¬ 
cause it preserves most inviolably those se¬ 
crets which are only meant to meet the eye 
of his lovely mistress; far be it from us to 
pry into these secrets, so let us now bid adieu 
to the fair Lucretia, who begins anxiously to 
unrol the folds of her papyrian epistle. 


INFANT EDUCATION. 

To those persons, yet too numerous, who 
hold secular education to be limited to read¬ 
ing, writing, and counting, the education of 
infants has appeared a practical absurdity. 
How can babies be taught to read, to write, 
or cast accounts? We answer whatever may 
be effected in these accomplishments with the 
older children of infant-schools—and much is 
effected—reading, writing, and counting, form 
no essential parts of infant education. In¬ 
finitely higher cares demand the infant-train¬ 
er's study. The germ of mind is in his hands. 
That mind, which he is presumed to know in 
its future full development, is before him in 
its first feeblest manifestations—manifestations 
which he can recognise, and mould, and direct 


aright, to the incalculable good of the individ¬ 
ual and society; or leave undirected to all 
the chances of incalculable evil. His posi¬ 
tion is not merely important—it is awful; and 
he is unfit to occupy it whom it fails so to 
impress. The function of the highest and 
latest academical chair shrinks into insignifi¬ 
cance when compared with the behest of him, 
who, in the person of a Wilderspin, was 
taunted as the “ baby-professor.” 

Education begins almost with birth. What 
is called an infant-school is really an advanced 
stage, strange as it may sound to many ears. 
The infant-school is physically impracticable 
with children in the nurse’s arms; they must 
be able to stand alone and walk, or, as a rule, 
to have reached the age of two years. There 
are then two precious valuable years to be 
accounted for; how have they been bestowed ? 
The future man may have been made or mar¬ 
red in these two years, according as they have 
been devoted. The infant can not read or 
write, but he can perceive, and feel, and act. 
It is born with some mental faculties, in full 
capacity to act. It speedily sees, hears, 
tastes, smell, touches, mechanically moves 
and resists, and shrinks when support is with¬ 
drawn for an instant. It feels pain. It knows 
how to act in obedience to the instinct of 
food. It cries when unsupplied, and often 
manifests violence and passion. It is soon 
engaged in perceiving and examining material 
objects, and when gaining a knowledge of 
their qualities, is occupied more importantly 
than it will ever be in its years of mature ac¬ 
complishment. Is there no field for the edu¬ 
cator in all this ? There is, and one of the 
most delicate and skilful cultivation. Keep¬ 
ing in view that education has two great ends 
—to train all the faculties to proper action, 
and to instruct the intellectual, let us make 
the attempt to describe the beau-ideal of 
secular education, commencing, as it ounht, 
with cradle-education , soon after birth. It 
has been said that we can imagine a mount¬ 
ain of pure gold, and a sea of wine; let us 
then conceive what as yet is almost as unre¬ 
alizable, a series of educators, ready for a for¬ 
tunate human being, from his birth onward 
to his maturity, who are qualified, by princi¬ 
ple and practice, to conduct every step of his 
training and instruction aright. To his nurse 
—and well for him will it be that that func¬ 
tionary is the nurse of nature, the mother—is 
assigned the deeply responsible function of 
commencing the course; and we are entitled 
to require that the child shall not be subjected 
to any counteracting influences from the ig¬ 
norance of others around him. We presume 
that the mother knows infant nature physi¬ 
cally and morally, and that the conditions of 
bodily health and right mental development 










4 



are both perfectly understood, and kept stead 
ily in view by her. She is fully instructed 
in infant treatment, and has fully abjured all 
the mischievous absurdities which peril in¬ 
fant health, and multiply infant graves. She 
knows the gradual and successive develop¬ 
ment of the human faculties; the watches 
with intense interest the first buddings of the 
infant mind; she occupies its waking moments. 
Skill in this occupation is itself a test of the 
merits of a nurse. It has two important re¬ 
sults: it exercises and thereby improves the 
senses and observant powers, and it diverts 
from the incessant importunity of the animal 
feelings, lessening thereby their intensity, and 
laying the foundation of virtuous habits. A 
wide difference is observable among nurses in 
power and disposition to amuse infants; but 
even the best diverter would gain yet greater 
purchase, if, from knowledge of the nature 
and mode of action of the senses and observing 
powers, she offered amusement which would 
tend to their improvement. Forms, sizes, 
colors, arrangement, number, relative position, 
and resistance, may all be made at once 
amusements, lessons, and exercises, to the in¬ 
fant; while the several senses, through which 
their perception gains admittance to their ap¬ 
propriate cerebral organs, may all be passing 
through a course of improvement by various 
judicious trials of their vigor. The relations 
of musical tones are often very early per¬ 
ceived. We have heard a part of a melody 
hummed, in imitation of its nurse, by an infant 
scarcely a year old. A singing nurse posses¬ 
ses a grand additional qualification for her 
office; there is no excitement more whole¬ 
some to the infant’s spirits than a lively song, 
no diversion from excess of animalism more 
powerful. Animalism is pre-eminently pres¬ 
ent in the infant, for the wisest ends. Un¬ 
qualified selfishness, in the matter of food, is 
essential to an infant’s existence; and it can 
not, in its sphere, more benefit the society of 
which it has become a member, than by just 
such self-seeking. But even the infant may 
play the glutton, and form a habit thus early 
which will unfavorably characterize the adult. 
Organization will direct the phrenological 
mother in this particular; for, as the instinct 
manifests itself a few hours after birth, its 
cerebral indication is early developed. Next, 
in order of time, to the alirnentive, the com¬ 
bative and destructive instincts show them¬ 
selves. The plaintive wail of pain gives 
place, in many infants, to the sharper cry 
of temper, and very young infants will rage, 
and strike, and kick, and roar, till they are 
well nigh black in the face. Phrenological 
physiologists can tell the effect of this over¬ 
exercise on the plastic infant brain ; at no 
later period of life will it make so deep an 


impression. Then is the habit of irascibility 
first formed, to become more and more defiant 
of control, till its strength in after-life may 
disturb domestic and public peace, break out 
in acts of violence and homicide, or terminate 
in dangerous insanity. The enlightened 
mother knows all this, and watches closely 
the incipient signs, connecting them with the 
obvious organization. Then\vill her powers 
to divert be called for. For every paroxysm 
of temper which she succeeds in averting, 
will be so much gained to the moderation of 
the faculty’s activity—of its future strength 
and defiance of control, till, like the skilful 
physician, who, by mitigating the periodical 
attacks of disease, lessens at once their fre¬ 
quency and severity, she has succeeded in 
forming a character of patience, and even 
gentleness, compared with what would have 
resulted from leaving, as is yet too much the 
course to do, the combative and destructive 
impulses to their own wild way—and society 
to make fruitless laws for restraining them. 

In the course of the two years of what may 
be called the nursery period, other faculties, 
still of the inferior and selfish class, will, in 
various degrees, but always according to or¬ 
ganization, successively exhibit themselves. 
The germs of faculties, which in excess are 
covetousness, cunning, pride, vanity, and ob¬ 
stinacy, will be found to answer to organiza¬ 
tion ; and the well-prepared mother will de¬ 
tect them, when to others, they would remain 
invisible; till, at a later period, they become 
unmistakable, from the domestic anno}'ance 
which they occasion. These are the mani¬ 
festations of faculties planted in the human 
constitution for wise and good ends, when not 
in abuse, of which abuse the above series are 
the names. The skilful nurse will guide them 
aright, and present them with their proper 
objects. She knows that she will find the 
largest organs certainly the most tending to 
excessive and unfavorable manifestation, and 
to these her corrective attention will be chiefly 
directed. Her powers of diversion must nev¬ 
er fail her. As with passion, so with obsti¬ 
nacy, she must divert the infant from its ex¬ 
citing causes, and never contend with it; and 
so of all others; she will avoid an unwise or 
thoughtless purveyance of their objects. 

Having succeeded, as she will not fail to 
do, if there be no more than an average en¬ 
dowment of the animal propensities, in pro¬ 
ducing at least the negative qualities of pa¬ 
tience, moderation in food, and absence of 
cunning, greediness, obstinacy, and infant 
vanity and self-esteem, should the signs of 
the last two appear, she will welcome the first 
gleams of the higher unselfish feeling of 
benevolence. This will first appear in the 
passive and negative form of a gentle sweet- 












INFANT EDUCATION. 


334 


ness, but may be directed into the positive 
channel, as the two years move on, of kind¬ 
ness to domestic animals, protection to insects, 
acts of affection to other children and adults, 
and of readily parting with cherished objects, 
or shares of them, as gifts. It is not likely 
that, in average cases, such manifestations 
will go much further ; but daily, nay hourly, 
exercise thus far, will be of inestimable value, 
and will tell for life upon the general charac¬ 
ter. By the time of the second anniversary 
of our elcve's birthday arrives—presuming, as 
we do, that the perceptive powers have re¬ 
ceived constant exercise, so as to be strength¬ 
ened, and stored with knowledge of things and 
their qualities which present themselves in 
nursery life—there will be introduced to the 
infant school a subject admirably prepared 
for the more advanced course which will be¬ 
gin in that valuable seminary. With just 
pride and hope the excellent mother will hand 
her child over to the infant-school teacher. 
She has done a duty of high dignity in the 
moral world—a duty which, if universal, 
would change the face of human society, and 
elevate man to a rank, really, and not nominal¬ 
ly, only a little lower than the angels, and 
more in conformity, than history has ever re¬ 
corded him, with the image in which he was 
created. But, alas! when shall such things 
be! When shall we see such children—when 
such mothers! 

Our eleve is now introduced to the little 
world of the infant-school, where he will en¬ 
joy advantages denied to the solitude of the 
nursery. He mingles with numbers, of which 
element the importance in the formation of 
his character is obvious. He finds his fellow- 
men in a variety of aspects, with a variety 
of characters resembling and differing from 
his own, in his intercourse with whom he will 
find use for all the faculties he possesses 
which imply social existence as man’s destiny. 
Some of these, in their manifestations in his 
companions, may encroach on his right to his 
food, others on his little property; some may 
touch his self-esteem, others mortify his love 
of approbation, and in other ways try his 
forbearance: such feelings it will be the daily 
lesson and exercise of the place to control in 
himself, and forgive in his less worthy play¬ 
mates, and he will be led to love his little 
enemies, if so they may be called, and requite 
them good for evil. Such, he will learn, is 
the practice of good and great men; and no 
man is great who is not also good. 

The training of the faculties, begun in the 
nursery, will proceed in the infant-school, 
and on a more extended scale. They will be j 
strengthened by much opposite instruction, 
example, and exercise. The effect of an in¬ 
nocent rivalry in being and doing good will 


soon show itself, and no one who is conversant 
with infant-schools is ignorant of w r hat may 
really be called, in reproach of general socie¬ 
ty, the high moral standard which guides the 
intercourse of the little community. 

It is unnecessary to detail at length the 
curriculum of a .good infant-school. Works 
on the subject are numerous. Those of 
Wilderspin, the great improver of these sem¬ 
inaries, are well known. The number of 
Chambers’s Educational Course entitled “In¬ 
fant Education,” is itself a concise guide, from 
which a judicious person might establish and 
conduct an infant-school. The moral branch 
of the system must ever be held the most im¬ 
portant. In order to direct this branch aright, 
the teacher, like the mother, must intimately 
know the faculties, both animal and moral, 
which all act blindly, as mere feelings, unless 
guided by an improved intellect. The best 
infant-school teachers we have met with are 
practical phrenologists. Such easily ascer¬ 
tain the diversities of organization. But they 
possess other advantages. Aware of the 
faculties, they observe and distinguish their 
marked manifestations, and know well how 
to meet them with restraint or encourage¬ 
ment, as respectively required. The animal 
or selfish faculties generally require the rein 
—the moral orsocial the spur; and delicately 
and judiciously, will an accomplished infant 
teacher use either. His moral lessons will 
inculcate how the selfish faculties may be 
abused, and how invariably, by the Creator’s 
moral laws, such abuse, besides defeating its 
own end, is followed by suffering—and not 
less certainly how the exercise of mercy and 
truth bring not only delight in their exercise, 
but reward in their consequences. Lessons 
of temperance tell admirably on the pupils 
of infant-schools. A horror of drunkenness, 
and a knowledge of all its evil consequences, 
are most satisfactorily prevalent in many an 
infant-school; and often has a child, with its 
impressions lisped forth at home, shamed a 
thoughtless parent into sobriety, and been 
known to bring him from the ale-bench, when 
his wife’s endeavors have been brutally re¬ 
pelled. Mercy and kindness to animals, pro¬ 
tection to the weak and imbecile, respect for 
inanimate destructible things—delicate atten¬ 
tion to avoid annoying others by troublesome 
uncleanly practices — willing obedience to 
rules and regulations—punctuality—respect¬ 
fulness and affection to superiors—love to 
equals,, and kindness to all, have all been re¬ 
alized in well-conducted infant-schools. 

The intellectual branch of infant education, 
though secondary, is not neglected in a school 
when such as it ought to "be. There is no 
cramming and overworking the knowing or 
reflecting faculties. The teacher knows the 










INFANT EDUCATION. 


danger as well as the fruitfulness of such a 
course. He is well aware of the premature 
deaths of precocious children, ignorantly and 
vaingloriously overworked. He knows that 
while the moral organs are strengthened by 
exercise, the intellectual are injured by task¬ 
work. His lessons addressed to the latter 
must be incidental, having much of the nature 
of play, and never too long continued at a 
time. Much may be insensibly communica¬ 
ted in this way. Lessons on objects and their 
qualities may be rendered intensely attractive 
as well as instructive, till a great amount of 
useful elementary knowledge is required; 
and experience has shown that many children, 
in the four years, from two to six, during 
which they have attended a good infant-school, 
have incidentally, and as so much pleasure, 
acquired a most respectable stock of knowl¬ 
edge, and mastered reading, and the elements 
of arithmetic, and geography besides. 

“ All this imparted to your eleve without a 
single religious lesson!” will probably be the 
exclamation of many. We answer, “ None 
of it without religious lessons.” A teacher 
of the young, who is himself imbued with 
the belief that nature’s laws are of God’s ap¬ 
pointment, in their most stupendous and min¬ 
utest relations—that he governs the physical, 
and not less the moral world, by fixed laws, 
which his intelligent creatures are bound to 
learn and obey—that the exquisite adapta¬ 
tions of these laws, when obeyed, to the hap¬ 
piness of sentient beings demonstrate a benev¬ 
olent, and the sufferings he has attached to 
disobedience, a just Being—it is morally im¬ 
possible, we say, for such an instructor to 
give a lesson in either physical or moral 
truth without discerning the present God in 
his own mind, and loving him in his own 
heart; and imparting that knowledge and that 
love, by instruction and sympathy, to his pu¬ 
pils. When a teacher’s attention was con¬ 
fined to conveying the practice of mere instru¬ 
ments, as reading and writing, he could not 
lay the foundation of religious feeling in his 
pupils. Hence arose the supposed necessary 
practice of imparting scriptural, and even 
doctrinal religious instruction, to absolute in¬ 
fants, while the whole religion of God’s natural 
revelation, unknown as it was to the instruc¬ 
tor, was a sealed book to the instructed. Such 
is not the course to which our supposed eleve 
would be subjected; he would be brought to 
discover , so to speak, a powerful, wise, and 
good God, in his own existence, and the sim¬ 
ple and intelligible arrangements, which sur¬ 
round him and give him enjoyment .and hap¬ 
piness ; till a practical conviction that God is , 
and that he governs the world, would be fixed 
in his young mind, which would through life 
secure his adoration; while a feeling of grati- 


385 


tude for his goodness, would equally secure 
his love. A deep feeling of piety may be 
kindled in the infant bosom by an accomplish¬ 
ed infant-school teacher. 

In school, where are assembled the children 
of parents of every variety of Christian doc¬ 
trine, and of some perhaps whose belief is not 
the Christian faith, our perfect system would 
rigidly exclude the introduction of the infant 
mind to what must be the teacher’s own 
special religious belief and opinions. We 
have presumed an enlightened mother at home, 
who will have well considered and conscien¬ 
tiously fixed her own faith, and carefully se¬ 
lected her religious pastor. She and he will 
best determine the time and the way of her 
beloved child’s introduction to the path which 
leadeth to a kingdom not of this world—to 
eternal salvation. Who will dare to antici¬ 
pate the sacred teachings of this inner school; 
or inculcate faiths and forms which that school 
may repudiate, nay, it may be, abhor ? But 
joyfully will the favored child be received 
into that sacred sanctuary, imbued, as he will 
be, as a foundation for other instruction, with 
a knowledge and love of God as revealed in 
his natural creation. 

We should perhaps have described sooner 
the provisions made in the infant-school for 
physical education. A playground is not only 
essential for such a seminary, but is the chief 
department of it. Bordered with the neatest 
cultivation, stocked with the choicest flowers, 
adorned with tasteful and even fragile erections 
of taste, all to practise in refinement and care, 
it has an ample space for exercises, befitting 
the age of the pupils. In this place, with its 
fresh air, more than half their time at school 
is spent, their sittings in school at one time 
being short; and here their intercourse is free, 
and their social feelings the better exercised. 

No child arrived at six years of age, who is 
not unfortunately organized, a subject to be 
watched in after-life, can leave an infant- 
school without much of that improvement, 
that formation of character, which education 
that at once trains and instructs, must neces¬ 
sarily produce. Our supposed experiment , 
having joined the school with the best mater¬ 
nal preparation, and reaped all its benefits the 
more easily and perfectly because of that 
preparation, all the school lessons and the 
school exercises seconded and enforced at 
home, the health and strength improved, he 
it is that will do most credit to the second 
stage of his education, the infant-school, and 
prove its incalculable advantages. 

We are prepared to hear that such views 
are visionary and Utopian. We deny it: 
they are eminently practical—nay more, they 
aie practicable; and extreme as they may ap¬ 
pear, they will yet be universally realized. 


25 








3S6 BURNING A PRIEST AT TAVOY, SIAM. 


BURNING A PRIEST IN SIAM. 

The death of a Ponghee, or president of a 
kyoung is regarded as a great event, and the 
funeral is conducted with pomp and ceremony. 
The body, being emboweled, and its juices 
pressed out, is filled with honey, and swathed 
in many folds of varnished cloth. The whole 
is coated with beeswax ; that which covers 
the face and feet being so wrought as to re¬ 
semble the deceased. These parts are then 
gilded. The body often lies in state many 
months, on a platform highly ornamented with 
fringes, colored paper, pictures, &c. 

During my stay at Tavoy, occurred the fu¬ 
neral of a distinguished Ponghee. Its rarity, 
and the great preparations which had been 
made for it, attracted almost the entire popu¬ 
lace. The body had been lying in state, un¬ 
der an ornamental canopy for several months, 
embalmed in Burman fashion. The face and 
feet, where the wax preserved the original 
shape, were visible, and completely gilded. 
Five cars on low wheels had been prepared, 
to which were attached long ropes of ratan, 
and to some of them at each end. They 
were constructed chiefly of cane, and not only 
were in pretty good taste, but quite costly 
withal, in gold leaf, embroidered muslin, &c. 

When the set day arrived, the concourse 
assembled, filling, not only all the zayats, but 
all the groves, dressed in their best clothes, 
and full of festivity. Not a beggar or ill- 
dressed person was to be seen. Almost every 
person of either sex, was dressed in silk ; and 
many, especially children, had ornaments of 
gold or silver in their ears and round their an¬ 
kles and wrists. Not an instance of drunken¬ 
ness or quarrelling came under my eye, or, 
j that I could learn, occurred on either day. 
The body in its decorated coffin was removed, 
amid an immense concourse, from its place in 
the kyoung to one of the cars, with an exces¬ 
sive din of drums, gongs, cymbals, trumpets, 
and wailing of women. When it was prop- 
j erly adjusted in its new location, a number of 
men mounted the car at each end, and hun- 
{ dreds of people grasped the ropes, to draw it 
i to the place of burning, half a mile distant, 
j But it had not advanced many paces before 
j those behind drew it back. Then came a 
prodigious struggle. The thousands in front 
| exerted all their strength to get it forward, 
and those behind with equal energy held it 
back. Now it would go ten or twelve paces 
forward, then six or eight backward ; one par¬ 
ty pretending their great zeal to perform the 
last honors for the priest, the other declaring 
they could not part with the dear remains ! 
The air was rent with the shouts of each par¬ 
ty to encourage their side to exertion. The 
other cars of the procession w r ere dragged 


back and forth in the same manner, but less 
vehemently. This frolic continued for a few 
hours, and the crowd dispersed, leaving the 
cars on the way. For several days the pop¬ 
ulace amuse themselves in the same manner ; 
but I attended no more, till informed by the 
governor that at three o’clock that day, the 
burning would certainly take place. 

Repairing again to the spot, I found the ad¬ 
vancing party had of course succeeded. The 
empty cars were in an open field, while that 
which bore the body was in the place of burn¬ 
ing, enclosed by a light fence. The height 
was about thirty feet. At an elevation of fif¬ 
teen or sixteen feet, it contained a sort of se¬ 
pulchral monument, like the square tombs in 
our churchyards, highly ornamented with 
Chinese paper, bits of variously colored glass 
arranged like flowers, and variously mytho¬ 
logical figures ; and filled with combustibles. 
On this was the body of the priest. A long 
spire decorated to the utmost, and festooned 
with flowers, completed the structure. Soon 
after the appointed hour, a procession of 
priests approached, and took their seats on a 
platform within the enclosure, while in anoth¬ 
er direction came “ the tree of life,” borne on 
the shoulders of men, who reverently placed 
it near the priests. It was ingeniously and 
tastefully constructed of fruits, rice, boxes, 
cups, umbrellas, staffs, raiment, cooking uten¬ 
sils, and in short, an assortment of all the ar¬ 
ticles deemed useful and convenient in Bur- 
man housekeeping. Women followed, bear¬ 
ing on their heads baskets of fruits and other 
articles. All these offerings, I was told, 
were primarily for the use of the deceased. 
But as he only needed their spiritual essence, 
the gross and substantial substances remained 
for the use of the neighboring monastery. 

“ The priests, with a small audience of el¬ 
derly persons, now mumbled over the ap¬ 
pointed prayers, and having performed some 
tedious ceremonies, retired. Immediately, 
sky-rockets and other fireworks were let off, 
at a little distance. From the place of the 
pyrotechnics, long ropes extended to the fu¬ 
neral cars, to which were fastened horizontal 
rockets bearing various pasteboard figures, as 
may be seen in the engraving. Presently, 
men with slow matches touched off one of 
these ; but it whizzed forward only a little 
way and expired. Another failed in the same 
manner, and shouts of derision rose from the 
crowd. The next rushed forward, and broke 
a portion of the car, which called forth strong 
applause. Another and another dashed into 
the tottering fabric, while several men were 
seen throwing fagots and gunpowder into it, 
till finally, a furious rocket entering the midst 
of the pile, the whole blazed up, and the poor 
priest was exploded to heaven 1 Fancy fire- 

















Burning a Priest at Tavoy, Siam. 








































































































































































































































































































































THE HOUSE OF ROTHSCHILD. 


388 


works concluded the ceremony, and the vast 
crowd dispersed. In the background of the 
picture are hucksters vending fruits, &c., and 
in the centre some musical buffoons. 

Rev. H. Malcom’s Travels. 


THE HOUSE OF ROTHSCHILD, 

It is usual to trace the origin of great fam¬ 
ilies to some gallant expluit, or some lucky 
accident, which suddenly raised the ancestor 
of the house from obscurity, and provided 
him at the same time with a legend to his 
coat of arms. The representatives of such 
families are born personages of history ; their 
name, title, and estate—their position in the 
the country—descending to them by inherit¬ 
ance, and so continuing from generation to 
generation, till war or revolution damages or 
removes the old landmarks of society. But 
there are other origins which it would be 
vain to endeavor to arrive at by a similar 
process ; the origins of houses that rise stead¬ 
ily, not suddenly, in their peculiar career, 
and the success of which is not secured by a 
single incident, but distributed evenly over 
the lifetime of one or more generations. In 
such cases, the germ of prosperity must be 
sought for in the family mind—in the idiosyn¬ 
crasy of the race—in the theory by which 
their conduct in the world is governed ; and 
not the first accident, which attracts the at¬ 
tention of the vulgar as the origin of their 
fortune, is merely a point d'appui selected by 
forethought and resolution. The rise of the 
house of Rothschild presents a very remark¬ 
able illustration of his view of a question 
which will never cease to be interesting, and 
affords a striking instance of the natural and 
simple means by which those vast results are 
obtained which it is customary to ascribe to 
chance or miracle. 

In the middle of the last century there 
lived, in the town of Frankfort-on-the-Maine, 
a husband and wife of the Hebrew persua¬ 
sion, who lavished all their cares upon a son, 
whom they destined for the profession of a 
schoolmaster. The boy, whose name was 
Meyer Anselm Rothschild, and who was born 
at Frankfort in the year 1743, exhibited such 
tokens of capacity, that his parents made 
every effort in their power to give him the 
advantage of a good education; and with this 
view he spent some years at Firth, going 
through such a curriculum of study as ap¬ 
peared to be proper. The youth, however, 
had a natural bent toward the study of anti¬ 
quities, and this led him more especially to 
the examination of ancient coins, in the knowl¬ 


edge of which he attained to considerable pro¬ 
ficiency. Here was one step onward in the 
world ; for, in after years, his antiquarian 
researches proved the means of extending 
and ratifying his connexions in society, as 
well as of opening out to him a source of im¬ 
mediate support. His parents, however, who 
were noted as pious and upright characters, 
died when he was yet a boy, in his eleventh 
year, and on his return to Frankfort he set 
himself to learn practically the routine of the 
counting-house. 

After this we find him in Hanover, in the 
employ of a wealthy banking-house, whose 
affairs he conducted for several years with 
care and fidelity ; and then we see opening out 
under his auspices, in his native city, the germ 
of that mighty business which was destined 
to act so powerfully upon the governments of 
Europe. Before establishing his little bank¬ 
ing-house, Meyer Anselm Rothschild pre¬ 
pared himself for the adventure by marrying; 
and his prudent choice, there is no doubt, con¬ 
tributed greatly to his eventual success in the 
world. 

About this time a circumstance is said to 
have occurred, to which the rise of the Roths¬ 
childs from obscurity is ascribed by those 
who find it necessary to trace such brilliant 
effects to romantic and wonderful causes. 
The prince of Hesse-Cassel, it seems, in fly¬ 
ing from the approach of the republican arm¬ 
ies, desired, as he passed through Frankfort, 
to get rid of a large amount in gold and jewels, 
in such a way as might leave him a chance 
of its recovery after the storm had passed by. 
With this view he sought out the humble 
money-changer, who consented reluctantly to 
take charge of the treasure, burying it in a 
corner of his garden just at the moment when 
the republican troops entered the gates of the 
city. His own property he did not conceal, 
for this would have occasioned a search; 
and cheerfully sacrificing # the less for the 
preservation of the greater, he reopened his 
office as soon as the town was quiet again, and 
recommenced his daily routine of calm and 
steady industry. But he knew too well the 
value of money to allow the gold to lie idle 
in his garden. He dug it forth from time to 
time as he could use it. to advantage; and, in 
fine, made such handsome profits upon his 
capital, that on the duke’s return in 1802, he 
offered to refund the whole, with five per 
cent, interest. This of course was not ac¬ 
cepted. The money was left to fructify for 
twenty years longer, at the almost nominal 
interest of two per cent.: and the duke’s in¬ 
fluence was used, besides, with the allied 
sovereigns in 1814 to obtain business for 
“the honest Jew” in the way of raisin^ pub¬ 
lic loans. J 1 









THE HOUSE OF ROTHSCHILD. 


The “ honest Jew,” unfortunately, died 
two years before this date, in 1812; "but the 
whole story would appear to be either entire¬ 
ly a romance, or greatly exaggerated. Roths¬ 
child must have already been eminent as a 
banker, or he would hardly have been selected 
by the prince of Hesse-Cassel as the deposit¬ 
ary of a sum amounting, it is said, to $250,000, 
exclusively of the jewels. At any rate, it 
was in the year 1801 he was appointed agent 
to the landgrave, afterward elector of Hesse ; 
and in the next year (indicated in the story 
as that of the prince’s return) a loan of ten 
millions was contracted with the Danish court 
through the house of Rothschild. Before 
this—and necessarily so no doubt—his knowl¬ 
edge, and the tried rectitude of his conduct, 
had gained him general confidence; his wealth 
had increased, and an enormous extension of 
the field of his operations had taken place. 
The fact appears to be, that by this time the 
banker of Frankfort was more in the habit of 
rendering assistance than of requiring it; and 
the grand duke of the day, to whom the Is¬ 
raelites owed their civic and political rights, 
nominated him a member of the electoral 
college, expressly as a reward for his generous 
services to his fellow-citizens. 

The personal character of Meyer Anselm 
Rothschild is not of small consequence in the 
history of the house—for their dead father 
may be said to direct to this hour the opera¬ 
tions of his children. In every important 
crisis he is called into their counsels ; in ev¬ 
ery difficult question his judgment is invoked; 
and when the brothers meet in consultation, 
the paternal spirit seems to act as president. 
The explanation of this well-known and most 
remarkable trait in the family is not difficult 
to those who are in the habit of penetrating 
through the veil of the romantic, in order to 
arrive at the simple realities of life. The 
elder Rothschild was obviously a man of com¬ 
prehensive intellect, who did not act on the 
spur of chance or necessity, but after mature 
reflection, and on rules distinctly laid down; 
and he must have brought up his children in 
a certain theory, which survived his mortal 
part, and became identified with his memory. 
This is the only idolum conjured by the piety 
of his descendants. His bearing, we are told, 
was tranquil and unassuming; and although 
a devout man, according to his views of re¬ 
ligion, his devotion was so completely untinged 
with bigotry, that in his charities he made no 
distinction between the Jew and the Christian. 

In 1812, Rothschild left to the mighty 
fortunes of which his wisdom had laid the 
foundation, ten children—five sons and five 
daughters; laying upon them, with his last 
breath, the injunction of an inviolable union. 
This is one of the grand principles to which 


389 


the success of the family may be traced. The 
command was kept by the sons with religious 
fidelity. The copartnership in which they 
were left, remained uninterrupted ; and from 
the moment of their father’s death, every 
proposal of moment was submitted to their 
joint discussion, and carried out upon an agreed 
plan, each of the brothers sharing equally in 
the results. The other great principle of their 
conduct is one which actuates all prudent 
men, and is only deserving of special remark 
in them, from the almost mechanical regular¬ 
ity with which it was acted upon, this was 
the determination never to run the slightest risk 
in pursuit of great profits. Their grand ob¬ 
ject was to see clearly each transaction to its 
termination; to secure themselves from all 
accidents that human forethought could avert, 
and to be satisfied with a reasonable and or¬ 
dinary reward. The plan acted in a twofold 
manner. By husbanding their capital, they 
were enabled to take advantage of a thousand 
recurring commissions, so as to extend their 
connexion day-by-day; while their habitual 
caution earned for them a reputation of solidi¬ 
ty, which, united with their real wealth, car¬ 
ried their credit to a pitch which would have 
been dangerous, if not fatal, to less steady in¬ 
tellects. Credit, however, was no snare to 
them. They affected no master-strokes—no 
coups d'etat. They would have used the 
lamp of Aladdin, not to summon genii, but to 
light their steps as they toiled on in the path 
of genii. The only secrets by which they 
obtained their choice of innumerable offers 
of business, were the moderation of their de¬ 
mands—the punctual fulfilment of their en¬ 
gagements—and the simplicity and clearness 
of their system. In short, the house of 

%j m # 

Rothschild became great because its affairs 
were conducted upon the most perfect system 
of mercantile tactics, and because the charac¬ 
ter of its members, partaking largely of that 
of the original banker of Frankfort, combined 
many of those amiable qualities which secure 
popularity without forfeiting respect. They 
sought to make money by skill and industry, 
not parsimony ; they gave a liberal share of 
their profits to all whose services were of use 
in attaining them; and their hand— 

« Open as day to melting charity”— 

doubled the value of the gift by the grace 
with which it was presented—the grace im¬ 
pressed upon the external manner by a simple 
and kindly heart. 

We may now mention another circumstance 
which, on various occasions, must have con¬ 
tributed largely to the mercantile success of 
the family. Although their real union con¬ 
tinued indissoluble, their places of residence 
were far asunder, each member of the house 














390 


THE HOUSE OF ROTHSCHILD. 


domiciling himself in a different country. At 
this moment, for instance, Anselm, born in 

1773, resides at Frankfort; Solomon, born in 

1774, chiefly at Vienna; Charles, bom in 
1778, at Naples; and James, bom in 1792, at 
Paris. The fifth brother, Nathan, born in 
1777, resided in London, and died at Frank¬ 
fort in 1837. The house was thus ubiquitous. 
It was spread like a network over the na¬ 
tions, and it is no wonder that, with all other 
things considered, its operations upon the 
money-market should at length have been felt 
tremblingly by every cabinet in Europe. Its 
wealth in the meantime enabled it to enjoy 
those advantages of separation without the 
difficulties of distance. Couriers travelled, 
and still travel, from brother to brother at the 
highest speed of the time ; and these private 
envoys of commerce very frequently outstrip 
the public expresses of government. 

We have no means of giving anything like 
the statistics of this remarkable business; 
but it is stated in the “ Conversations Lexi¬ 
con,” that in the space of twelve years from 
1813—the period, we may remark, when war 
had ruined all Europe, and when governments 
were only able to keep themselves afloat by 
flinging the financial burden upon posterity 
—from eleven to twelve hundred millions of 
florins (-$500,000,000 to $600,000,000) were 
raised for the sovereigns of Europe through 
the agency of this house, partly as loans, and 
partly as subsidies. Of these, 500,000,000 
florins were for England; 120,000.000 for Aus¬ 
tria; 100,000,000 for Prussia; 200,000,000 for 
France; 120,000,000 for Naples; 60,000,000 
for Russia; 10,000,000 for some of the Ger¬ 
man courts; and 30,000,000 for Brazil. And 
this, it is added, is exclusive “of those sums 
for the allied courts, of several hundred mill¬ 
ions each, which were paid as an indemnity 
for the war to the French, and likewise of 
the manifold preceding operations executed 
by the house as commissioners for different 
governments, the total amount of which far 
exceeded the foregoing.” This, however, 
may already be considered an antiquated au¬ 
thority ; for, in reality, the vast business of 
the firm can hardly be said to have com¬ 
menced till after the dozen years referred to 
had expired. Since the year 1826, the house 
of Rothschild has been the general govern¬ 
ment bankers of Europe, and if it were possi¬ 
ble to compare the two circles of transactions, 
the former would seem to dwindle into insig¬ 
nificance. 

In 1815, the brothers were appointed coun¬ 
sellors of finance to the then elector of Hesse; 
and in 1826, by the present elector, privy 
counsellors of finance. In 1818, they were 
elected to the royal Prussian privy council of 
commerce. In Austria, they received, in 


1815, the privilege of being hereditary land¬ 
holders; and in 1822, were ennobled in the 
same country with the title of baron. The 
brother established in London was appointed 
imperial counsel, and afterward counsel-gen¬ 
eral; and in the same year (1822) the same 
honor was conferred upon the brother resident 
in Paris. The latter, the Baron Janies, has 
the reputation of being the most able financier 
in France; and it is mainly through his assist¬ 
ance and influence with the other capitalists 
that railways are now intersecting the length 
and breath of the land. 

Nathan, the brother who resided in Eng¬ 
land, left four sons, three of whom rank among 
the most distinguished aristocracy of the Brit¬ 
ish capital; the fourth, Nathan, residing in 
Paris. The eldest, Lionel de Rothschild, is 
privileged, as a British subject, to bear the 
title of an Austrian baron ; his brothers being 
barons only by courtesy. The second has 
been recently created a baronet of England, 
as Sir Anthony de Rothschild ; and the third, 
Baron Meyer, is now high sheriff of Buck¬ 
inghamshire. Baron Lionel de Rothschild 
was invited by the reform association to stand 
as a candidate with Lord John Russell for 
the representation of London in the present 
parliament, and was returned third on the 
list. 

Most of the members of this family have 
married, and live in great splendor; and it 
must be observed, as something characteristic 
of the race, that their choice of wives has 
usually been a good one. In London, where 
we know them best, the widow of Baron 
Nathan is held in great esteem for her inex¬ 
haustible charity, in the course of which, we 
observe by the newspapers, she has contribu¬ 
ted largely toward the formation of an educa¬ 
tional institution for children of the Christian 
faith. Her sister, the lady of Sir Moses 
Montefiore, is popularly known as a suitable 
helpmate for her philanthropic partner. The 
sister of Baron Nathan, widow of the brother 
of Sir Moses Montefiore, is likewise well- 
known for her liberality, and more especially 
for the large funds she has bestowed on the 
establishment of schools for all religious de¬ 
nominations 

But there is another female of this remark¬ 
able family whom we must mention in a 
special manner, and with her name we con¬ 
clude. She is the widow of the banker of 
Frankfort, the mother of the five brothers, 
and grandmother of those flourishing men who 
are now rising proudly among the aristocracy 
of Europe. The following notice of this ven¬ 
erable and venerated lady we take from “ Les 
Matinees du Samedi” of G. Ben Levi: “In 
the Jews’ street at Frankfort-on-the-Maine, 
in the midst of Gothic facades, black copings, 








TEARS. 


391 


and sombre alleys, there is a house of small 
exterior, distinguished from others by its lux¬ 
urious neatness, which gives it an appearance 
of singular cheerfulness and freshness. The 
brass on the door is polished, the curtains on 
the window are as white as snow, and the 
staircase, an unusual thing in the damp at¬ 
mosphere of this dirty quarter, is always dry 
and shining. 

“ The traveller who from curiosity visits 
this street—a true specimen of the times when 
the Jews of Frankfort, subjected to the most 
intolerable vexations, were restricted to this 
infected quarter—will be induced to stop be¬ 
fore the neat and simple house, and perhaps 
ask, ‘ Who is that venerable old lady seated 
in a large arm-chair behind the little shining 
squares of the window on the first story V 
This is the reply that every citizen of Frank¬ 
fort will make : ‘ In that house dwelt an Is¬ 
raelite merchant, named Meyer Anselm Roths¬ 
child. He there acquired a good name, a 
great fortune, and a numerous offspring; and 
when he died, the widow declared she would 
never quit, except for the tomb, the unpre¬ 
tendingdwelling which had served as a cradle 
to that name, that fortune, and those children.’ 

“ Continued prosperity has attended the 
sons of the pious and modest widow. Their 
name is become European, their wealth pro¬ 
verbial. They inhabit sumptuous palaces in 
the most beautiful quarters of Paris, London, 
Vienna, Naples, and Frankfort; but their 
mother, persevering in her admirable modes¬ 
ty, has not quitted her comparatively humble 
house, where those sons come to visit her with 
respect and reverence, and discharge their 
duties in memory of their estimable father, 
thus presenting bright examples for the pres¬ 
ent time.” 


TEARS. 

The connexion between laughter and tears, 
is so close that the latter is often the natural 
sequence of the former—an overflowingof the 
eye being an unfailing accompaniment of the 
convulsion of mirth. In the midst of life we 
are in death ; in the midst of laughter we are 
in tears! But the strange association does 
not end here; for weeping produces joy, by 
relieving and solacing the wounded heart; 
and through the gloomy portals of the grave 
we pass into immortal life. 

Weeping is an earlier affection than laughter. 
The former comes to us with our first inflation 
of the lungs by atmospheric air; but we are 
not sufficiently reconciled to the world to laugh 
at it for some little time. Crying is easy: 


we take to it by instinct the moment we are 
bom; but we require a month or two, and 
sometimes more than that, to find out the jest 
of life. We do not know all at once what 
people mean by poking us in the ribs, pinch¬ 
ing our cheeks, throttling us with their kisses, 
and addressing us in an unknown tongue. 
But the fun of the thing at length dawns upon 
us, and then becomes clearer and clearer, till, 
beginning with a smile, we get in time to a 
downright crow. Weeping is not only first, 
it is likewise last. The tears of infancy are 
renewed in old age; and the same salutation 
we give the world at meeting suffices for our 
farewell. But midway between these two 
points we are freer from the emotion. Equi¬ 
distant from the softness of youth and the 
weakness of age, the “ mortal coldness of the 
soul” comes down over our manhood like 
death :— 

“ That heavy chill has frozen o’er the fountain of our 
tears, 

And though the eye may sparkle still, ’tis where 
the ice appears!” 

Weeping is not only first and last, it is a 
necessary condition of perfect life. Laughter 
no doubt is wholesome, from its effect upon 
the lungs and the circulation; but tears are 
indispensable to the sight. Some people get 
on very well without laughing; but we must 
all look at the world through our tears, or else 
not look at all. Without this moisture, the 
eye would lose its brightness, the cornea would 
wither and dry up, and we should become 
blind. Laughter is an accident, an exception, 
a liberty taken with nature ; and after the 
convulsion is over, our features recompose 
themselves into deeper gravity than before, 
as if in remorse for their extravagance. Tears, 
on the other hand, are a normal suffusion that 
is necessary to the organ of sight; and after 
their effusion in weeping, we feel refreshed 
and thankful—the grief that has called them 
forth being softened by the shower, just as 
any acrid matter that may enter the eye is 
diluted by its protecting tears. 

But although grief may be the most com¬ 
mon cause of weeping, it is by no means the 
sole cause. Joy, surprise, sympathy, and 
other emotions, affect us in the same way. 
When long-severed friends meet again, they 
not unfrequently weep. Thus Joseph was 
so affected by the meeting with his brethren, 
that “ he made haste, and he sought where 
to weep; and be entered into his chamber, 
and wept there.” Among savages there is a 
great difference in this respect. The Ameri¬ 
can Indian would think his manhood foully 
stained by a tear; while among the New- 
Zealanders, weeping is practised as an ac¬ 
complishment by the chiefs, who consider it 








TEARS. 


392 


still more necessary to be able to cry well than 
fight well. The western strangers, they re¬ 
mark, meet their friends like so many dogs 
—civilized dogs of course they mean—giving 
each other a paw. As for themselves, they 
not only embrace, and rub noses, but then sit 
solemnly down face to face, and drawing their 
mats over their heads, weep for joy, as if 
their hearts were breaking. 

Triumph, after severe suspense, moves 
man to tears as commonly as the joy of meet¬ 
ing. Laughter is said by some writers to be 
a manifestation of this proud feeling; but the 
same thing might be said more correctly of 
weeping. We remember, when visiting the 
church of Notre-Dame at Mantes, being much 
struck with the loftiness of the vault of the 
nave, from which some men, engaged in 
whitewashing the roof, swung in barrels, look¬ 
ing like so many spiders. When this vault 
was built, and the supports were about to be 
withdrawn, Rudes de Montreuil, terrified at 
the boldness of the arch he had constructed, 
did not dare to look on, but went home, and 
there awaited the result in the agony of sus¬ 
pense. Judge of his feelings when he heard 
at length the hasty steps of his nephew, whom 
he had deputed to witness the operation. 
“ It stands ! it stands !” cried the young man, 
bursting into the room, “ an immortal monu¬ 
ment of your fame!” At the words, the 
architect fell to the ground, as if struck down 
with a blow, and burst into a passion of tears. 

The constructor of the first Menai bridge 
had more nerve than Rudes. He looked on 
while the last chain was fastening, when in 
another moment the fate of his remarkable 
work would be determined; but success had 
the same effect upon him as upon the French 
architect, and when he saw that all was safe, 
he burst into tears. A feeling somewhat dif¬ 
ferent from this, united with home recollec¬ 
tions, affected Bruce when he saw the object 
of his adventurous wanderings completed; 
and his full heart saluted the source of the 
Nile, not with exclamations of wonder and 
exultation, but with silent tears. 

No more than this! What seemed it now 
First by that spring to stand 1 
A thousand streams of lovelier flow 
Bathed his own mountain land ! 

Thence far o’er waste and ocean track, 

Their wild sweet voices called him back. 

He wept—the stars of Afric’s heaven 
Beheld his bursting tears, 

E’en on that spot where fate had given 
The meed of toiling years ! 

O happiness ! how far we flee 

Thine own sweet paths in search of thee.” 

But tears are not only called forth by op¬ 
posite feelings, they are likewise the cause 
of opposite phenomena. 


“ I saw thee weep—the big bright tear 
Came o’er that eye of blue ! 

And then methought it did appear 
A violet dripping dew : 

I saw thee smile—the sapphire’s blaze 
Beside thee ceased to shine ; 

It could not match the living rays 
That filled that glance of thine.” 

It did not perhaps occur to the poet that 
these two effects were produced by the same 
cause, and that his mistress’s eye owed its bril¬ 
liance, as well as its softness, to a tear. The 
power attributed to the eye in itself is in 
great part a delusion. It is not a kind of soul , 
as people are fond of representing it, but a 
mere body, owing its greater or less brightness 
to the greater or less adaptation of its color 
for reflecting light through the lachrymal 
liquid. Its expression is determined, in great 
part, by the other features, but more especial¬ 
ly the mouth. Look at the face of a blind 
man, and you will see that it expresses the 
passions pretty nearly as well as that of a 
man endowed with sight—wanting only the 
effect of moisture in the eye, the quantity of 
which is to a certain degree indicative of the 
emotion. 

We tried recently an experiment on this 
question, the converse of that of the blind 
man; putting out the other features instead 
of the eye, and leaving that alone to tell its 
story. This was accomplished by means of 
a paper mask, which hid the whole face with 
the exception of the eye; and our subjects 
being chiefly young ladies, it may readily be 
supposed that we obtained as much expression 
as nature intended to give. But what an ex¬ 
pression ! If you have ever witnessed the 
unnatural effect of a glass eye, think of what 
two would have. While the paper-mask was 
quivering, and the whole frame convulsed with 
suppressed laughter, there stood the eyes, 
staring straight forward, cold, stony, mute, 
spectral, destitute of feeling and of life. 
There was something strange, almost shock¬ 
ing in the contrast; but when the mask was 
torn off', and the young and mirthful face dis¬ 
closed entire, the expression at once returned 
in a flood of light, and the rekindled eyes 
laughed till they wept. 

The lower animals bear testimony to the 
same thing. In them we often meet with an 
expression of either amiability or moroseness; 
but this is without variety, except in those 
species gifted with mobility of feature. The 
cat, for instance, who has no such mobility, 
except on extraordinary occasions, looks in¬ 
variably grave, even in the midst of her 
wildest gambols. The dog, on the other 
hand, having the power of imitation, has a 
decidedly human smile when he chooses, and 
can easily be moved to tears by soft and 
melancholy tones. But we were once very 






TEARS. 


intimately acquainted with a lady’s lapdog, 
which followed its mistress in something more 
than her smiles*and tears. This little animal 
was of the most delicate organization, and of 
so nervous a temperament, that on meeting 
a beloved friend after a long absence, the joy 
was overpowering, and poor Fanny fainted 
away. This curious manifestation of sensi¬ 
bility we have repeatedly witnessed, although 
only in the case of the same individual of our 
canine friends. 

With regard to the human species, it is not 
only in the important circumstances and great 
emergencies of life that tears come uncalled 
for; they are produced by a thousand sym¬ 
pathetic emotions, so slight and evanescent, 
that we can hardly trace their nature or their 
track. A trait of generosity or nobleness of 
feeling—a picture of hopeless devotion—a 
scene of humble happiness—a breath of mu¬ 
sic—a word—a look, associated with our 
early recollections—all may cause a sudden 
suffusion in the eyes, wanting only opportu¬ 
nity to overflow. A deep tragedy affects us 
in this way less than a little touch of senti¬ 
ment occurring in a comedy. Our taste may 
be gratified by the pictured griefs of princes 
and heroes, but our tears rise more freely in 
obedience to some thrill of the chord of our 
everyday feelings and sympathies. Among 
tragedies, those are the most successful in 
touching us which the heart can translate into 
common language, and remove into the hum¬ 
ble sphere of its own affections. 

It is impossible that a comedy can make us 
laugh which does not here and there make us 
sad and tearful. No one can laugh through 
several acts, any more than he can refrain 
from yawning after the first few pages of a 
jest-book. We want contrast to give relief, 
to carry us on from point to point, to give 
piquancy to the entertainment. The mind 
needs no repose, but it must have variety. 
When tired of one thing, it applies itself to 
another of a totally different kind—just as a 
tailor gets up to rest himself by standing. 
Tears and laughter, besides, are natural as¬ 
sociates ; a fact which was impressed upon 
us many years ago by. the admirable acting 
of the elder Mathews, in a trifling little comic 
piece called “ My Daughter’s Letter.” He 
personified an old Frenchman in Canada, who 
was constantly calling at the postoffice for a 
letter from his daughter, and was as often 
disappointed. Here were slight materials— 
but Mathews was a man of genius; and he 
so contrived, with his pathos and absurdities, 
his French broken by English, and English 
broken by French, and the universal language 
of nature over all, to keep the audience in a 
continuous alteration of sobs and laughter. 
Never did we hear such manifestations of 


393 


grief—never behold such enjoyment of fun. 
One moment everybody was drowned in tears, 
and nothing was heard but catching of breaths 
and blowing of noses; the next a general 
burst of laughter swept round the house like 
a tempest. 

A living poet desires of chymistry to turn 
a tear into a gem, that he may wear it on his 
bosom :— 

“ Oh that the chymist’s magic art 

Could crystallize this sacred treasure, 

Long should it glitter near my heart, 

A secret source of pensive pleasure !” 

But as the great bulk of tears consists of 
water, with only a very small portion of 
saline substances, it might be difficult to ob¬ 
tain from them in sufficient quantity (unless 
perhaps in New Zealand) even such evanes¬ 
cent crystals as are left by evaporation. The 
ordinary use of tears is to wash and moisten 
the eye, for which a small quantity suffices ; 
but nature is never found wanting in great 
emergencies, and accordingly, in the case of 
an accidental injury, the liquid pours upon 
the cornea in such abundance as may be 
requisite for its protection. It guards the eye 
from cold, screens it from light, assuages its 
sufferings from smoke or other acid vapor, and 
breaks the harshness of contact with a foreign 
body, which it dissolves, or floats away in its 
beneficent stream. Finally, in affections of 
the mind, and more especially sorrow, tears 
pour in until they overflow. “ In tears,” as 
Metastasio tells us through Mrs. Hemans— 

“ In tears the heart opprest with grief 
Gives language to its woes; 

In tears its fulness finds relief, 

W hen rapture’s tide o’erflows ! 

Who, then, unclouded bliss would seek 
On this terrestrial sphere, 

When e’en delight can only speak, 

Like sorrow, in a tear V 

In such emergencies as we have mentioned 
the operation of nature is spontaneous. When 
the eye is wounded, she rushes, like a watch¬ 
ful mother, to the rescue, and without any 
solicitation on our part, pours bountifully out 
the curative waters of her fountain. But 
when it is the heart that is torn by great grief 
or sudden emotion, although she is equally on 
the alert to sooth and heal, there is this dif¬ 
ference, that in the former case we are passive 
patients in her hands, while in the latter we 
are often able to exercise control, and defy at 
once the doctor and the disease. Persons of 
strong nerve can arrest the torrents of their 
tears, even when the big drops are trembling 
on their lashes, and compel the rising waters 
to sink and disappear. Many an eye looks 
cold and calm when the fountain of its hot and 
bitter tears is boiling beneath. Many a pale, 
smooth brow is raised erect, as if to look down 
















THE MALAYS. 


394 


the misery that besets it in society, when the 
proud man would fain, like him of old, hide 
himself in his chamber to weep unseen. 

But pride, being in itself unholy, can not be 
expected to produce good fruits; and accord¬ 
ingly, wherever the dread of tears prevails 
habitually, and in an excessive degree, we find 
coldness of heart instead of manliness of charac¬ 
ter, and an incapacity to extend to others that 
sympathy which we shrink from ourselves. 
Abstractedly, there is nothing more unmanly 
in a manifestation of sensibility by tears than 
by smiles. The one is no more a proof of 
weakness than the other; and generally 
speaking, the former have their origin in the 
higher and more refined emotions. When 
reading anything ridiculous, we smile openly; 
but when the subject awakens our better sen¬ 
sibilities, we either repress our tears, or hide 
them as something shameful or criminal. Why 
is this ? We have heard in conversation va¬ 
rious reasons assigned for the odium into which 
tears have fallen. Their hypocrisy, for in¬ 
stance, since so many people have the New- 
Zealand faculty of producing them at will; 
and the constitutional feebleness they betray, 
since women and children are the greatest 
weepers. But is the opposite phenomenon 
more rare in women and children ? Is the 
“ sapphire blaze” always a natural produc¬ 
tion ? Does the silver laugh invariably come 
from the heart ? Have we never heard that a 
man may “ smile, and smile, and be a villain” ? 
There are, of course, sensibilities for which 
weeping would be as unsuitable a manifesta¬ 
tion as laughter; and there are likewise 

“ Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears 

but we suspect that our dread of betraying the 
softer emotions is a remnant of the same un- 
reflective pride which keeps the western In¬ 
dian in a state of savageism to this day. 


THE MALAYS. 

The original country of the Malays is not 
known. The evidence is in favor of Su¬ 
matra. Both at Celebes, and Sumatra, 
there are prevalent traditions, which assign 
the period of their origin to the middle of the 
twelfth century. About that time, a cele¬ 
brated chief of Celebes, went on an explo¬ 
ring and trading voyage to the westward, 
whence he had occasionally seen natives. In 
the course of the expedition, he put into a 
river of Sumatra, where a large number of 
his followers absconded in a body ; and, pas¬ 
sing into the interior, settled the region of 
Men-an-ka-bo. Obtaining wives from the 


adjacent tribes, and possessing more civiliza¬ 
tion, they gradually formed a new race and 
rose to dominion. Most of them had been 
slaves, obtained from the Moluccas, and em¬ 
ployed as woodcutters, and drudges to the 
fleet. Hence, they were called Malays, from 
Mala , to bring, and aya, wood. Sir Stam¬ 
ford Raffles affirms, that to tips day, the 
people of Celebes look with great contempt 
on the Malays; and are in the habit of re¬ 
peating the origin of the name. A general 
similarity between the Malays, and the in- 
habitarits of the Moluccas, has been often re¬ 
marked. And what is more remarkable, the 
Malay language is spoken more purely in the 
Moluccas, than on the Malay peninsula. 

If this origin of the Malays be true, it ac¬ 
counts for the similarity which has been re¬ 
marked between them, aad several of the 
tribes of the archipelago, such as the Eida- 
hans and Dayas of Borneo; the Sabanos, of 
Magindano ; the Tagats and Pampangoes, of 
the Manillas; and the Biscayans, of the 
Philippines. 

On the arrival of the Arabs in Sumatra, 
the Moslem faith rapidly supplanted pagan¬ 
ism, and this by proselytism, not by force. 
Whether their language had before been re¬ 
duced to writing, is not clear ; but it now was 
written in the Arabic characters, which con¬ 
tinue to be used. Since the introduction of 
European influence, the Roman alphabet is 
becoming prevalent, and the larger part of 
those who can read, do so in that character. 

The new nation extended their conquests 
and colonies, till all Sumatra yielded them 
feudal homage. In the thirteenth century, 
they passed over to the peninsula, and took or 
built Malacca and Singapore. Gradually ex¬ 
tending their dominions and colonies, the chief 
seat of their power was transferred to the 
new territory; and the chiefs of Sumatra, 
began to throw off their yoke. Proceeding 
to acquire power and numbers, they at length 
not only regained Sumatra, but conquered 
the Sunda, Philippine, and Molucca islands, 
with many smaller groups, and are now found 
in all these regions, as well as Borneo, and 
Luconia, and many other islands ; but with¬ 
out any centre of unity or power, without 
literature, freedom, or civilization. They 
have sunk to insignificance, and are apparently 
still sinking in national character. 

The Malay peninsula (called by the natives 
Tanah Malayu , “ the land of the Malays”) 
is the only great country wholly occupied by 
this race; and is now divided into the king¬ 
doms of Keda, Perak, and Salengore, in the 
west; Johore, in the south ; Pahang, Trin- 
gano, Calantan, Patini, and Ligore, in the 
east. There are states in the interior less 
known; viz., Rumbo, Johole, Jompole, Go- 








THE MALAYS. 


395 


minchi, Sungie-Oojong, Scrimenanti, Nan¬ 
ning Ulu, Calang, Jelly e, Jellaboo, Segamet, 
Kemoung, &c. Some of these are divided 
into separate tribes ; as for instance, Jellaboo 
consists of the tribes of Bodoanda, Tannah- 
Dottar, Muncal, and Battu-Balang. Scrime¬ 
nanti embraces twelve tribes, though the pop¬ 
ulation does not exceed ten thousand. Sun¬ 
gie-Oojong, Johole, Scrimenanti, and Rumbo, 
are called, “ Menangkabo states.” The en¬ 
tire population is very small; some of the 
states numbering no more than two thousand 
souls. The whole peninsula, except Rumbo 
and Johore, is claimed by Siam; but many 
of the tribes are independent, and of others, 
the subjection is but nominal. 

Scattered over the peninsula, without spe¬ 
cific districts and locations, are several wild 
tribes of whom almost nothing is known. 
East of Malacca are Udai, Sak-kye, and Ray- 
at-Utan, and some negro tribes. These all 
go under the name of Orang-Benua , or coun¬ 
try people. These have each a language or 
dialect, but largely tinctured with Malay. 
Further north, on the mountains are negro 
tribes ; but evidently distinct from the Afri¬ 
can race. Of these tribes we hope soon to 
know more. They seem to be a distinct va¬ 
riety of the human race ; differing from both 
the African and the Papuan of New Guinea ; 
and inferior to both. The average height of 
the men is about four feet eight inches. 
These Malay negroes are thinly spread over 
a considerable district, in and in the rear of 
Malacca, and thence northward to Meigui; 
amounting in the whole to but few thousands. 
There are at least five tribes of them—the 
Joc-oons, Sa-mangs, Oo-dees, Sak-ais, and 
Ry-ots. All of them are much below the 
Malays, and some scarcely above the apes; 
dwelling in trees, and clefts of the mountain. 
A few have learned a little Malay, and occa¬ 
sionally venture among adjacent tribes, to pur¬ 
chase tobacco and utensils ; but of letters they 
know nothing. Nor have any religious ob¬ 
servances been discovered among them. 
Their only weapon is the sumpit, a small hol¬ 
low cane, about eight feet long, through 
which they blow short arrows, often poisoned 
at the tip. 

The Malays are everywhere Mohamme¬ 
dans. The period of their becoming so, must 
be placed near the commencement of their 
existence as a nation on Sumatra, but it is 
not known with exactness. Wherever they 
have spread, they exhibit a vigorous spirit of 
proselytism ; and even where force has never 
been attempted, they have drawn many thou¬ 
sand pagans to the worship of the true God. 

Commercial and piratical in their character 
and aims, they have seldom settled far from 
coasts and harbors; so that the language does 


not prevail among the interior tribes, either 
on the peninsula or the islands of the Indian 
archipelago. Over these tribes they may 
claim some authority, and take precedence 
by superiority of civilization, but their lan¬ 
guage, manners, and government, remain un¬ 
changed. 

A general character can hardly be assigned 
to a people scattered over so many countries, 
and intermingled everywhere with indigenous 
tribes. They have generally been set down 
as distinguished for vileness and treachery. 
This opinion has doubtless been derived from 
mariners; for till recently, few others knew 
much about them, -and the piratical tribes 
alone have brought themselves into general 
notice. It can not be denied, however, that 
European and American captains on the coast 
of Sumatra, and elsewhere, have, by their 
frauds and oppressions, contributed not a lit¬ 
tle to drive those people to make reprisals. 

Disregard of human life, revenge, idleness, 
and piracy, may perhaps be considered com¬ 
mon to Malays. The universal practice of 
going armed, makes thoughts of murder fa¬ 
miliar. The right of private revenge is uni¬ 
versally admitted, even by the chiefs, and the 
taking of life may be atoned for by a small 
sum of money. Treachery has been consid¬ 
ered the leading trait of Malay character; 
but probably the idea is exaggerated. Their 
religion teaches them, like other Mussulmans, 
to use treachery and violence toward infidels. 
But there is full reason to believe, that, in 
intercourse with each other, domestic and 
private virtues prevail to as great an extent 
as among other heathen. As to piracy, it is 
deemed not only a pure and chivalrous occu¬ 
pation, but religiously meritorious, It is car¬ 
ried on by prince, people, and priest, and is 
not less a matter of pride than of rapacity. 

In the arts of peace, they are greatly infe¬ 
rior to their neighbors of Java, Japan, Co¬ 
chin-China, and Siam. They have even less 
mechanical ingenuity and skill than the Bu- 
gis. No portion of the Malays are much 
civilized, and some are truly savage. The 
feudal system prevails everywhere, in all its 
integrity. The whole mass of the common 
people are virtually slaves. Every chief not 
only consumes the labor or the property of 
his people at pleasure, but sells the services 
or the persons of his vassals to any persons 
who will purchase them. 

The Malay language is pronounced, by all 
who attempt it, an easy language to acquire. 
This is doubtless true, to a certain extent. It 
has no sounds difficult for Europeans or 
Americans to pronounce; its construction is 
exceedingly simple, and its words are few. 
There is no change made in words to express 
number, person, gender, mood, and time; and 











I 


396 the BOSTON 


the same word is often used as a noun, adjec¬ 
tive, verb, and adverb. Even the tenses to 
verbs are seldom varied. Hence, so much 
as is necessary for common purposes is soon 
learned. But, whoever would speak on liter¬ 
ary or religious subjects, finds great difficul¬ 
ties. The absence of grammatical inflections 
and particles creates great ambiguity, and 
makes the meaning so dependent on the jux¬ 
taposition of words, as to make great skill 
necessary to propriety in discoursing on any 
critical or novel subject. Besides this, the 
language is so poor in abstract terms, as to 
make it impossible to avoid using a host of 
new words. These are adopted by one from 
the English, by another from the Arabic, by 
another from the Greek, and by another from 
the Portuguese, according to the learning or 
fancy of his teacher. 


THE BOSTON CUSTOMHOUSE, 

This costly and imposing edifice, one of the 
most striking of Boston’s architectural orna¬ 
ments, is situated on India street, nearly op¬ 
posite the foot of State street, a location more 
convenient than commanding. The artist has 
selected the head of Central wharf, as the 
point of view, thus giving us the east side, 
which however, corresponds precisely with 
the west or front side. It would be difficult 
to find words to convey an adequate idea of 
the effect produced by an inspection of this 
building, either within or without; but we 
give our readers the following description of 
the various parts. 

The laying of the foundations of the new 
customhouse commenced in 1837. About 
three thousand piles were first driven, cover¬ 
ing an area of nearly fourteen thousand feet. 
On these was laid a platform of granite, a 
foot and a half thick, and well cemented to¬ 
gether so as to be impervious to water. On 
the east, south, and west margins of this plat¬ 
form, is built a ten-foot shield-wall, and with¬ 
in the enclosure thus formed, stand the walls 
proper of the customhouse. 

The cellar story is much cut up by arches, 
and walls of vast thickness, required to sup¬ 
port the immense weight of the internal stone 
work above. Numerous rooms, however, 
twelve feet high, are secured for storage, and 
also an apartment for the furnaces for heating 
the whole establishment. The first story 
open to the light of day is the basement. In 
addition to the thick wall partitions separating 
the rooms, two granite columns, four feet in 
diameter, and eight, two feet in diameter, are 
distributed through the rooms as supporters. 


CUSTOMHOUSE. 


Besides two rooms for the night-inspectors, is 
a room ten feet by thirteen, for the engine for 
carrying the fans by which the heated air is 
to be forced up. The remainder of the rooms 
are for storage. They are ten and a half feet 
in height. 

In the second story, the main feature is the 
grand entrance vestibule, or rotunda, fifty- 
eight by sixty, formed by twelve granite col¬ 
umns, four feet in diameter. From the north 
and south sides rise two grand stair-cases, fif¬ 
teen feet wide at the bottom, and seven at the 
top, terminating in smaller vestibules above, 
which connect with the various offices in the 
third story. On the northeast side of the 
grand vestibule are the assistant treasurer’s 
apartments, nineteen feet by twenty-two, six¬ 
teen by twenty-five, and ten by twelve, the 
latter being the vault, or Uncle Sam’s strong 
box. On this floor are two measurers’ apart¬ 
ments, superintendent’s room, two for weigh¬ 
ers and gaugers, two for inspectors, and one 
for the markers and approvers of spirits. In 
one of these rooms are four fourteen-foot gran¬ 
ite columns. In most of the rooms the ceil¬ 
ing is arched. 

In the third story, we find the great busi¬ 
ness room under the direction of the deputy- 
collector. It is sixty-two feet by fifty-eight, 
and lighted from the dome, and by six side 
windows opening on lighted passages. The 
dome is supported by twelve fluted columns 
of marble, twenty-nine and one half feet in 
height. Above them rises the dome thirty- 
two feet more. The lower circumference of 
the dome is one hundred and ninety-five feet. 
The circumference of the eye of the dome is 
fifty-six and a half feet, and it is furnished 
with beautifully-variegated, stained glass, 
which sends down a flood of mellowed light. ♦ 
This is said to be the most perfect and superb 
hall, in the Corinthian style, to be found in the 
United States. There are some twenty large 
desks in this elegant hall. On this floor are 
also two rooms each for the collectors, navy- 
officers, surveyors, and public store keepers. 

In the attic is an extra room for the mark¬ 
ers and two for the storing of papers. Through¬ 
out the building the flooring is stone. The 
roof and the unglazed part of the dome are 
also covered with tiles. The furniture in ev¬ 
ery part is new, and of the most thorough- 
made and substantial kind. 

The material of this costly edifice is ham¬ 
mered Quincy granite. The architecture is 
the Grecian Doric, which style is preserved 
throughout, as far as is consistent with the 
site, and the business to which the building is 
devoted. The extreme length of the build¬ 
ing is one. hundred and forty feet, and its 
depth, omitting the porticoes, seventy-five 
feet. The height from the basement floor to 










The Boston Customhouse 







































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































398 


CURIOSITIES OF ART. 


the top of the dome is ninety-five feet. Ex¬ 
ternally, thirty-two fluted columns are pre¬ 
sented, each five feet four inches in diameter, 
and thirty-two feet in height. Of these, six¬ 
teen are three-quarter columns, and form part 
of the walls, the spaces between them being 
devoted to windows. There are four on each 
end of the building, and two on each side of 
the porticoes. Then at each corner is a near¬ 
ly full column, so that each end of the build¬ 
ing presents the appearance of six of these 
fine columns, and the sides, including the por¬ 
ticoes, severally exhibit twelve columns. 
Four antae, or square pillars, stand at the in¬ 
tersections of the porticoes with the body of 
the building. The porticoes are ten feet deep 
by sixty-six in width, with six columns each, 
of the dimensions stated above, The entab¬ 
latures are ornamented with triglyph friezes 
and multule cornices, on a line with the cor 
nices of the building. The porticoes are 
reached by eleven stone steps, on the front 
and sides. 

Something over a million of dollars was ex¬ 
pended on this building, Notwithstanding its 
immense size, such is the increase of business 
and population in Boston, that it is question¬ 
able whether in a few years it will not be 
altogether too small for the accomplishment 
of the amount of business which it will be 
desirable to transact beneath its roof. 

Ammi B. Young, Esq., was employed as 
architect in the erection of this edifice, and 
we need not add that it is a noble monument 
to his taste and skill. 


CURIOSITIES OF ART, 

The interest excited by any product of 
ingenuity or skill must ever be comparative. 
The musket of the sailor is a matter of won¬ 
der to the savage, the steam-vessel a marvel 
to the Chinese, and the electric telegraph a 
curiosity to all. Five hundred years ago 
our forefathers would have been as much 
struck as the South Sea islander with the 
feats of the musket; forty years ago steam¬ 
boats were subjects of wonder to our country¬ 
men ; and ten years hence we shall be as 
familiar with electric telegraphs as we are 
now with spinning-machines, gas-light, loco¬ 
motives, and steam-frigates—all of which 
were marvels and curiosities in their day. 
Since invention is thus ever-active and pro¬ 
gressive, we can regard as permanent curiosi¬ 
ties of art only such products as exhibit 
vastitude or boldness of design, great inge¬ 
nuity and perseverance in accomplishment, 
intricacy and complication of parts combined 


with harmony of execution, minuteness of 
proportions with delicacy of finish, and sim¬ 
ulation of living agency by inanimate mech¬ 


anism. 


The earliest efforts of mechanical ingenuity 
in Europe were chiefly directed toward the 
construction of clocks, watches, and automata. 
In all of these, weights and springs were the 
prime movers, and the skill of the mechanic 
was expended in rendering the movements of 
his work as numerous and complicated as 
possible. They had no idea of applying their 
art to the great manufacturing operations so 
characteristic of the present age ; not that 
they were unskilful workmen, but that they 
were ignorant of that agency which has 
developed our steam-engine, spinning-mills, 
printing-presses, and other machinery. Steam 
force was to them unknown. Their sole great 
moving power was falling water—a power at¬ 
tainable only in a limited degree, and, when 
attainable, not often in a situation to be avail¬ 
able. It was thus that ingenious workmen so 
frequently devoted a lifetime to the construc¬ 
tion of some piece of mechanism, which, after 
all, was only valuable as an amusing curiosity. 


SPEAKING MACHINES. 

From the time that the statues of Memnon 
emitted their mystical tones on the banks of 
the Nile, and the oracular responses were 
delivered at Delphi, through the period when 
a speaking head was exhibited by the pope, 
toward the end of the tenth century, and oth¬ 
ers afterward by Roger Bacon and Albertus 
Magnus, various surprising efforts have been 
made to produce a machine capable of articu¬ 
lating human words and sentences. The rec¬ 
ord left us concerning the Egyptian statues is 
by far too scanty to afford basis even for a 
probable conjecture; and with respect to the 
oracle at Delphi, the cave of Trophonius, and 
the like, we have every reason to suppose that 
the sounds emitted were merely those of some 
confederate, rendering more surprising by call¬ 
ing in the aid of acoustic principles in the 
construction of the oracular temple. Again, 
the speaking instruments of the middle ages 
were simple combinations of pipes and stops, 
concealed by an external semblance of a hu¬ 
man head, and capable of uttering only a few 
simple syllables. 

It is but recently that ingenuity, aided by 
the numerous mechanical facilities of the 
present day, has been able - to complete a 
machine capable of simulating the human 
voice in a tolerable manner. Of the three or 
four which have been constructed during the 
present century, we shall only shortly advert 
to that of I aber, which created considerable 
sensation four or five years ago. It is thus 










CURIOSITIES OF ART. 399 


described by a German correspondent of the 
Athenaeum:— 

“You are aware that the attempts of 
Cagniard la Tour, Biot, Muller, and Steinle, 
to produce articulate sounds, or even to imitate 
the human voice, have not been very success¬ 
ful; in fact, our knowledge of the physiology 
of the larynx and its appendices has been so 
limited, that we have not even an explanation 
of the mode in which the falsetto is produced. 
Mr. Faber’s instrument solves the difficulties. 
I can only give you a very imperfect idea of 
the instrument. To understand the mechan¬ 
ism perfectly, it would be necessary to take 
it to pieces, and the dissection naturally is not 
shown the visiter, less from a wish to conceal 
anything, than from the time and labor ne¬ 
cessary for such a purpose. The machine 
consists of a pair of bellows, at present only 
worked by a pedal similar to that of an organ, 
of a caoutchouc imitation of the larynx, tongue, 
nostrils, and of a set of keys by which the 
springs are brought into action. The rapidity 
of utterance depends of course upon the rapid¬ 
ity with which the keys are played ; and 
though my own attempts to make the instru¬ 
ment speak sounded rather ludicrous, Mr. 
Faber was most successful. There is no 
doubt that the machine may be much im¬ 
proved, and more especially that the timbre 
of the voice may be agreeably modified. The 
weather naturally affects the tension of the 
India-rubber; and although Mr. Faber can 
raise the voice or depress it, and can lay a 
stress upon a particular syllable or a word, 
still, one can not avoid feeling that there is 
room for improvement. This is even more 
evident when the instrument is made to sing; 
but when we remember what difficulty many 
people have to regulate their own chorese 
vocales, it is not surprising that Mr. Faber 
has not yet succeeded in giving us an instru¬ 
mental Catalani or Lablache. Faber is a 
native of Freybourg, in the grand duchy of 
Baden; he was formerly attached to the ob¬ 
servatory at Vienna, but owing to an affection 
of the eyes, was obliged to retire upon a 
small pension: he then devoted himself to the 
study of anatomy, and now offers the result 
of his investigations, and their application to 
mechanics, to the world of science.” 


CALCULATING MACHINES. 

Various machines have from time to time 
been invented to lessen the drudgery of long 
and continuous calculation. The principles 
upon which the increase and decrease of num¬ 
bers depend, are as fixed as Nature herself; 
and these once known, wheel-machinery of 
determinate proportions may be constructed to 


perform every operation in arithmetic with 
the utmost facility and accuracy. It is well- 
known that in calculations involving the pow¬ 
ers and roots of numbers, progression, equa¬ 
tions, logarithms, and the like, it not only re¬ 
quires great expertness, but accuracy—an 
accuracy which is scarcely attainable under 
the strictest human attention. Such calcula¬ 
tions are of indispensable utility in astronomy, 
navigation, and geography, as well as in gen¬ 
eral mathematics; and, for application, are 
usually printed in tabular forms, embracing 
many hundred pages of thick-set figures. To 
complete such tables with perfect accuracy 
would require the life-work of several cal¬ 
culators; and yet, by well-arranged machine¬ 
ry, Mr. Babbage has demonstrated that they 
could be calculated and printed, free from 
errors, in the course of a few weeks. 

The most extensive and ingenious of cal¬ 
culating machines are undoubtedly those in¬ 
vented, and so far perfected, by Mr. Babbage. 
That constructed at the expense of the British 
government for the calculation of astronomical 
and nautical tables, is, we believe, not yet 
completed, in consequence of some misun¬ 
derstanding which caused a suspension of its 
progress in 1833. This employed one hundred 
and twenty figures in its calculation. At a 
later period, Mr. Babbage began another on 
his own account, intended to compute with 
four thousand figures ! Of the former inven¬ 
tion, Sir David Brewster, in 1832, speaks in 
the following terms: “ Of all the machines 
which have been constructed in modern times, 
the calculating machine is doubtless the most 
extraordinary. Pieces of mechanism for per¬ 
forming particular arithmetical operations 
have been long ago constructed; but these 
bear no comparison, either in ingenuity or in 
magnitude, to the grand design conceived and 
nearly executed by Mr. Babbage. Great as 
the power of mechanism is known to be, yet 
we venture to say that many of the most in¬ 
telligent of our readers will scarcely admit it 
to be possible, that astronomical and naviga¬ 
tion tables can be accurately computed by 
machinery—that the machine can itself correct 
the errors which it may commit—and that 
the results of its calculations, when absolutely 
free from error, can be printed off without 
the aid of human hands, or the operation of 
human intelligence. All this, however, Mr. 
Babbage’s machine can do; and as I have 
had the advantage of seeing it actually cal¬ 
culate, and of studying its construction with 
the inventor himself, I am able to make the 
above statement on personal observation. 
The machine consists essentially of two parts 
—a calculating part, and a printing part, both 
of which are necessary to the fulfilment of 
Mr. Babbage’s views; for the whole ad- 











400 CURIOSITIES OF ART. 


vantage would be lost if the computations 
made by the machine were copied by human 
hands, and transferred to types by the com¬ 
mon process. The greater part of the calcu¬ 
lating machinery is already constructed, and 
exhibits workmanship of such extraordinary 
skill and beauty, that nothing approaching to 
it has been witnessed.” At a later period, 
we find Dr. Lardner stating that the princi¬ 
ple on which this machine was founded was 
one of a perfectly general nature, and that it 
was therefore applicable to numerical tables 
of every kind, and that it was capable, not 
only of computing and printing, with perfect 
accuracy, an unlimited number of copies of 
every numerical table which has ever hitherto 
been wanted, but also that it was capable, of 
printing every table that can ever be required. 
It appears that the front elevation of the 
calculating machinery presents seven upright 
columns, each consisting of eighteen cages of 
wheelwork, the mechanism of each cage be¬ 
ing identically the same, and consisting of 
two parts, one capable of transmitting addition 
from the left to the right, and the other capa¬ 
ble of transmitting the process of carrying 
upward ; for it seems that all calculations 
are by this machinery reduced to the process 
of addition. There will, therefore, be one 
hundred and thirty-six repetitions of the same 
train of wheelwork, each acting upon the 
other, and the process of addition with which 
the pen would be going on successively from 
figure to figure, will here be performed si¬ 
multaneously, and as the mechanism can not 
err, with unfailing accuracy. The results 
of the calculating section are transferred by 
mechanical means to the printing machinery, 
and the types are moved by wheelwork, and 
brought successively into the proper position 
to leave their impressions on a plate of cop¬ 
per; this copper serving as a mould from 
which stereotyped plates without limit may 
be taken. 

It has been hinted at in the above descrip¬ 
tion, that various calculating machines have 
been invented—all, however, of inferior pre¬ 
tensions to that of Mr. Babbage. Thus, 
Louis Forchi, a Milanese cabinet-maker, con¬ 
structed a machine capable of performing the 
simple rules of arithmetic with exactitude. 
This invention is of recent date: its author 
was awarded the gold medal of the Milan 
Institute for his ingenuity. In 1838, an in¬ 
strument called the Surveyors’ Calculator was 
invented by a Mr. Heald, for the purpose of 
avoiding the necessity of long calculations in 
surveying estates. This instrument, which 
is somewhat upon the principle of the sliding 
scale, can also be used in extracting the roots 
of numbers, and in ordinary operations of 
multiplication and division. 


MINIATURE MACHINERY. 

Much skill and perseverance have been 
displayed by the ingenious in all ages in the 
construction of miniature objects—the pur¬ 
poses to be gained being minuteness of pro¬ 
portions with delicacy of finish. Veritable 
watches have been set in finger-rings; a 
dinner-set, with all its appurtenances, placed 
in a hazel-nut; and a coach and four enclosed 
in a cherry-stone. Beyond the mere training 
of the hand and eye to the accomplishment 
of delicate work, there can be nothing gained 
by such exhibitions of ingenuity; and were 
it not for this acquirement, we might safely 
pronounce all these tiny inventions as the 
offspring of ingenious trifling. 

Cicero, according to Pliny’s report, saw the 
whole Iliad of Homer written in so fine a 
character that it could be contained in a nut¬ 
shell ; and iElian speaks of one Myrmecides, 
a Milesian, and of Callicrates, a Lacedaemo¬ 
nian, the first of whom made an ivory chariot, 
so small and so delicately framed that a fly 
with its wings could at the same time cover 
it and a little ivory ship of the same dimen¬ 
sions ; the second formed ants and other little 
animals out of ivory, which were so extreme¬ 
ly small that their component parts were 
scarcely to be distinguished with the naked 
eye. He states also, in the same place, that 
one of those artists wrote a distich, in golden 
letters, which he enclosed in the rind of a 
grain of corn. 

The tomb of Confucius, a miniature model, 
of Chinese workmanship, is considered as the 
most elaborate, costly, and beautiful specimen 
of oriental ingenuity ever imported into Eu¬ 
rope. It is chiefly composed of the precious 
metals and japan-work, and adorned with a 
profusion of gems; but its chief value consists 
in the labor expended on its execution. Its 
landscapes, dragons, angels, animals, and hu¬ 
man figures, would require several pages of 
description, which, after all, would, without 
a view of the model, prove tedious and unin¬ 
telligible. The late Mr. Cox of London de¬ 
clared it to be one of the most extraordinary 
productions of art he ever beheld, and that he 
could not undertake to make one like it for 
less than d£l500. 

Among the many curious works of art pro¬ 
duced by the monks and nuns of ecclesiastical 
establishments, none have been so much ad¬ 
mired as their fonts, real and in model. On 
these were often lavished vast sums, and all the 
ingenuity which the sculptor, carver, or work¬ 
er in metal, could command. The font of 
Raphael has long been known and admired ; 
that executed by Acavala in 1562, and pre¬ 
sented by an emperor of Germany to Philip 
II. of Spain, may be considered, however, 









CURIOSITIES OF ART. 


401 


as the most elaborate of these performances. 
The model is contained in a case of wrought 
gold, and is itself of boxwood. The general 
design may be regarded as architectural, em¬ 
bellished with several compartments of sculp 
ture or carving, consisting of various groups 
of figures in alto and basso relievoes. These 
display different events in the life of Christ, 
from the annunciation to his crucifixion on 
Mount Calvary. The groups are dispersed 
in panels and niches on the outside, and in 
different recesses within. Some of the figures 
are less than a quarter of an inch in height; 
but though thus minute, are all finished with 
the greatest precision and skill; and what 
renders this execution still more curious and 
admirable, is the delicacy and beauty with 
which the back and distant figures and objects 
are executed. Though only twelve inches 
in height, and from half an inch to four inches 
in diameter, it is adorned with various archi¬ 
tectural ornaments, in the richest style of 
Gothic, and also figures of the Virgin and 
child, a pelican with its young, six lions in 
different attitudes, several inscriptions, and 
thirteen compositions of basso and alto relievo. 
The work is said to be of unrivalled merit and 
beauty, and will bear the most microscopic 
inspection. It was offered for sale in England 
about thirty years ago; but we are ignorant 
of its after-destination. 

We have seen that Arnold, the London 
watchmaker, constructed a watch for George 
III., which was set in a finger-ring; but this 
was nothing uncommon, for the emperor 
Charles V., as well as James I. of England, 
had similar ornaments in the jewels of their 
rings; and this species of mechanism is some¬ 
times witnessed, on a large scale, in the brace¬ 
lets of ladies. In Kirby’s Museum, notice is 
taken of an exhibition at the house of one 
Boverick, a watchmaker in the Strand (1745), 
at which were shown, among other things, 
the following curiosities: 1st, the furniture 
of a dining-room, with two persons seated at 
dinner, and a footman in waiting—the whole 
capable of being enclosed in a cherry-stone; 
2d, a landau in ivory, with four persons in¬ 
side, two postillions, a driver, and six horses— 
the whole fully mounted and habited, and 
drawn by a flea; and 3d, a four-wheel open 
chaise, equally perfect, and weighing only 
one grain. Another London exhibitor, about 
the same time, constructed of ivory a tea- 
table, fully equipped, with urn, teapot, cups, 
saucers, <5cc., the whole being contained in a 
Barcelona filbert shell. 

In 1828, a mechanic of Plymouth completed 
a miniature cannon and carriage, the whole 
of which only weighed the twenty-ninth part 
of a grain. The cannon had bore and touch- 
hole complete : the gun was of steel, the car¬ 


riage of gold, and the wheels of silver. The 
workmanship was said to be beautiful, but 
could only be seen to advantage through a 
powerful magnifying glass. In the Mechanics’ 
Magazine lor 1845, mention is made of a high- 
pressure steam-engine—the production of a 
watchmaker who occupies a stand at the 
Polytechnic Institution—so small that it 
stands upon a fourpenn 3 ' piece, with ground to 
spare! ‘‘It is,” says our authority, “the 
most curious specimen of minute workman¬ 
ship ever seen, each part being made accord- 
ing to scale, and the whole occupying so 
small a space that, with the exception of"the 
fly-wheel, it might be covered with a thimble. 
It is not simply a model outwardly; it works 
with the greatest activity by means of at¬ 
mospheric pressure (in lieu of steam); and 
the motion of the little thing, as its parts are 
seen laboring and heaving under the influence, 
is indescribably curious and beautiful.” 


GIGANTIC AND CURIOUS CANNONS. 

We notice a few of the remarkable field- 
pieces which have been constructed in va¬ 
rious countries since the invention of gun¬ 
powder. Such instruments are often regard¬ 
ed with interest, either on account of their 
stupendous size, or the ingenuity displayed 
in tlieir construction and mode of appliance. 
The largest known guns are, we believe, to 
be found in India, where they were cast dur¬ 
ing the meridian of the Mohammedan power. 
One of these brass pieces, known as “ The 
Lord of the Field,” now lies on the bastions 
of the walls of Bejapoor, and is not less than 
fourteen feet and nine inches long, with a 
bore of two feet and five inches in diameter 
—thus requiring a ball of two thousand six 
hundred and forty-six pounds! This stu¬ 
pendous gun was cast at Ahmednuggur, ore 
hundred and fifty miles distant from its pres¬ 
ent situation, and must have cost no ordinary 
amount of labor to transport it, Considering 
that the thickness of its metal is fully fourteen 
inches. 

On the ramparts of Brunswick there is a 
curious brass mortar, said to have been cast 
as early as 1411. It measures ten feet in 
length, and nine in extreme diameter; re¬ 
quires for an ordinary charge fifty-two pounds 
of gunpowder, and is capable of throwing 
bombs of one thousand pounds weight! An¬ 
other continental curiosity of this kind was 
the “ Monster Mortar of Antwerp, construct¬ 
ed some fourteen or fifteen years ago, but 
since destroyed by an overcharge of pow¬ 
der during an experimental exhibition. This 
huge instrument of destruction was cast at the 
royal foundry at Liege, under the superin¬ 
tendence of Baron Evain, the Belgian minis- 


26 











402 CURIOSITIES OF ART. 


ter of war. It was five feet long, and three 
feet and four inches in diameter, having a 
bore of twenty-four and a half inches, and 
weighing fourteen thousand and seven hun- 
dred pounds. The weight of the empty shell 
fitted for it was nine hundred and sixteen 
pounds ; of the powder contained in the shell, 
ninety-five pounds; and of the shell, when 
fully charged, ten hundred and fifteen pounds. 
The powder-chamber was made to hold thirty 
pounds; but a considerable less quantity than 
this sufficed to discharge the shell when the 
range did not exceed eight hundred or nine 
hundred yards. The weight of the wooden 
bed which contained the mortar was sixteen 
thousand pounds. “The name of ‘Monster 
Mortar,’ ” says the United Service Journal, 
“ was well selected, for it is scarcely possi¬ 
ble to conceive a more ugly or unwieldly im¬ 
plement. With the exception of the mortar 
at Moscow, the bore of which is thirty-six 
inches in diameter, and which, if ever used, 
must have been employed for projecting mas¬ 
ses of granite, the Antwerp mortar exceeded 
in magnitude any other engine of the kind 
hitherto known. The immense pieces called 
karthauns, which were common on the con¬ 
tinent in the early part' of the eighteenth 
century, rarely exceeded between seventy 
and eighty hundred weight, and projected a 
ball of not more than sixty pounds weight.” 

The largest gun ever made in Britain was 
one cast a few years ago for the pacha of 
Egypt. It weighs nearly eighteen tons, is 
made on the howitzer principle, and is about 
twelve feet long, with an immense quantity 
of metal at the breech. The diameter of the 
bore is about sixteen inches, and the weight 
of the ball with which it will be shotted four 
hundred and fifty-five pounds. Immense 
field-pieces have sometimes been constructed 
of malleable iron, by fashioning the body of 
bars, as a cooper forms a pail, and then hoop¬ 
ing them closely round by other bars of great 
strength. The old piece known as “ Mons 
Meg,” and exhibited as a curiosity on the 
upper parapet of Edinburgh castle, is made 
on this principle. It is now a wreck, and 
was long the only piece of the kind ; but 
some years ago the United States govern¬ 
ment gave orders for several of the same kind, 
of much larger dimensions. The largest of 
these was placed on board the “ Princeton” 
steamer, measuring sixteen feet in length, and 
capable of carrying a ball weighing two hun¬ 
dred and thirty pounds. During one of the 
experimental trips with the new vessel, this 
monster gun was shotted, and fired, when un¬ 
luckily the breech exploded, causing the death 
of two members of the president’s cabinet, 
Messrs. Upshur and Gilmer, besides killing 
and wounding a number of others on board. 


Among the curiosities under this head, we 
may justly notice the steam-gun of Mr. Per¬ 
kins, invented some thirteen or fourteen years 
ago, and which many of our readers may 
have seen exhibited in both London and Edin¬ 
burgh. It consists of an ordinary metal tube, 
of any calibre, connected with a compact 
steam apparatus of proportionate power, and 
movable at pleasure, in any direction, by 
means of a universal joint. With one fourth 
additional force to that of gunpowder, it will 
propel a stream of bullets, whether musket 
or cannon balls, at the rate of eighteen or 
twenty a second, for any length of time during 
which the steam-power may be kept up. One 
gun is in itself a battery in perpetual and in¬ 
cessant motion, moving horizontally or verti¬ 
cally, sweeping in a semicircular range, and 
pouring all the while a continued volley of 
balls with unerring precision when directed 
point-blank. Two of these guns in a ship 
would sink any vessel instantly; and what 
force could pass by such a battery on land ? 
In the models generally exhibited, the noise 
made in firing is little more than that caused 
by the rush of a column of steam from a nar¬ 
row aperture. It is curious to see a small 
tube of polished steel spitting (for that term 
is most expressive of its action) forth a show¬ 
er of bullets and steam without the least ap¬ 
parent effort. 


OPTICAL INSTRUMENTS. 

To the uninitiated, a common convex or 
concave lens is a curiosity. Why a bit of 
transparent glass so fashioned should magnify 
or diminish the objects seen through it, is a 
marvel until the optical principle is explained. 
The same remark may, with greater justice, 
be applied to convex and concave mirrors; 
to the telescope and microscope—instruments 
with which every schoolboy is now less or 
more familiar. Common as optical instru¬ 
ments of every description may have become, 
there are still a few, the ingenuity, beauty, 
or magnitude of which, must strike every re¬ 
flecting mind with curious interest. 

Among these, we may mention the curious 
metallic mirrors of the Chinese, in which the 
figures stamped on the back are clearly re¬ 
flected from the polished surface, as if the 
metal had been a transparent, and not a dense 
and opaque substance ! These mirrors are 
generally from five to ten inches in diameter, 
have a knob in the centre of the back by 
which they can be held, and on the rest of 
the back are stamped certain figures and lines 
in relief. It is these figures which are re¬ 
flected by the polished face—a fact, the ex¬ 
planation of which at one time greatly amused 
and perplexed the savans of Europe. One 























-—. . . '■ , ...■■ -—r r 

CURIOSITIES OF ART. 403 


individual ingeniously conjectures that the ! 
phenomena may have their origin in a differ¬ 
ence of density in different parts of the metal, 
occasioned by the stamping of the figures on 
the back, the light being reflected more or 
less strongly from parts that have been more 
or less compressed. Sir David Brewster, 
however, is of opinion that the spectrum in 
the luminous area is not an image of the 
figures on the back; but that the figures are 
a copy of the picture which the artist has 
drawn on the face of the mirror, and so con¬ 
cealed by polishing, that it is invisible in or¬ 
dinary lights, and can be brought only in the 
sun’s rays. “Let it be required, for exam¬ 
ple,” says he, “to produce the dragon which 
is often exhibited by these curious mirrors. 
When the surface of the mirror is ready for 
polishing, the figure of the dragon may be 
delineated upon it in extremely shallow lines, 
or it may be eaten out by an acid much diluted, 
so as to remove the smallest possible portion 
of the metal. The surface must then be 
highly polished, not upon pitch, like glass 
and specula, because this would polish away 
the figure, but upon cloth, in the way that 
lenses are sometimes polished. In this way 
the sunk part of the shallow lines will be 
as highly polished as the rest, and the figure 
will only be visible in very strong lights, by 
reflecting the sun’s rays from the metallic 
surface. When the space occupied by the 
figure is covered by lines or by etching, the 
figure w r ill appear in shade on .the wall; but 
if this space is left untouched, and the parts 
round it be covered by lines or etching, the 
figure will appear most luminous.” Which 
of these surmises is the true explanation of 
the phenomenon, we can not determine; but 
either way, the construction of these curious 
mirrors is confined alone to the Chinese, no 
other people having as yet hit upon the secret 
of producing the deception. 

Of late years, wonderful improvements 
have been effected on the microscope, both 
in the common compound achromatic and in 
the oxy-hydrogen. Of the former, we have 
now the most beautiful and perfect instru¬ 
ments, magnifying objects in nature many 
thousand times their real size, and enabling 
the observer to view them not only void of 
all false tints, but to measure and ascertain 
at the same time the comparative sizes of 
their several parts. Of the latter, some have 
been constructed of six and eight powers, 
ranged from one hundred and thirty to seven¬ 
ty-four million times; as, for example, the 
one made by Carey for the Polytechnic In¬ 
stitution in London. Thus, the second power 
of this instrument magnifies the wings of a locust 
to twenty-seven feet in length; the fourth pow¬ 
er magnifies the sting of a bee to twenty-seven 


feet; and by the sixth power, the human hair 
is magnified to eighteen inches in diameter. 

As we have gigantic microscopes, so also 
have we gigantic telescopes; that of Earl 
Rosse, completed about four years ago, being 
as yet by far the largest ever constructed. Its 
completion in 1844 was thus described by Dr. 
Robinson the astronomer: “ The speculum, 
which weighs three tons, and has a diameter 
of six feet, with a reflecting surface of four 
thousand and seventy-one square inches, has 
been ground to figure, and can be polished in 
a day. The tube, partly a cubic chamber, 
where the mirror is fixed, and partly a cyl¬ 
inder of inch deal, strongly hooped, and eight 
feet in diameter at its centre, is complete. 
The massive centres on which the telescope is 
to turn are in their place, and the iron ap¬ 
paratus which supports the speculum is also 
complete. The telescope is not to be turned 
to any part of the sky, but limited to a range 
of half an hour on each side of the meridian, 
through which its motion is given by pow¬ 
erful clockwork, independent of the observer. 
For this purpose it stands between two pieces 
of masonry of Gothic architecture, which 
harmonize well with the castle. One of 
these pillars will sustain the galleries for the 
observer, and the other the clockwork and 
other machinery. An extremely elegant ar¬ 
rangement of counterpoises is intended to 
balance the enormous mass, so that a compara¬ 
tively slight force only will be required to 
elevate or depress it. The arrangement will 
not permit the examination of an object at any 
time, but only when near the meridian, when 
it is best seen. So large a telescope will 
always require the most favorable circum¬ 
stances of air, &c., and there will always be 
enough of objects at any given time to em¬ 
ploy it fully. The aperture is six feet, the 
focal length fifty-eight, and the reflecting 
surface four thousand and seventy-one square 
inches.” Herschel’s celebrated telescope 
had only a focal length of forty feet, and a 
reflecting surface of eighteen hundred and 
eleven inches : dimensions, the bare mention 
of which will enable the reader to form some 
conception of this new and -wonderful instru¬ 
ment. Herschel’s telescope worked wonders 
in the starry field ; what, therefore, may we 
not expect from that of Earl Rosse, of more 
ample dimension, and of much more perfect 
finish ? Indeed its wonderful revelations have 
already commenced, and nebulae which batRed 
the instrument of our greatest astronomer are 
now resolved into clusters of stars. 


MANUFACTURES. 

The weaving of damasks and other figured 
fabrics, whether in silk, worsted, or linen, is 















404 CURIOSITIES OF ART. 


undoubtedly one of the most ingenious de¬ 
partments of art, though familiarity with the 
process has long ago abated our wonder. 
There are still, however, some rare achieve¬ 
ments in tapestry, weaving, and the like, which 
will ever be regarded as curiosities. Thus 
the weaving of certain garments without seam, 
even to the working of the button-holes and 
the stitching, is no mean feat, requiring not 
only considerable dexterity and skill, but a 
greater amount of patient labor than the gen¬ 
erality of people would be inclined to devote. 
Portrait-weaving, but recently attempted in 
Great Britain, is also a curious and delicate 
process. 

It has been long known that glass can be 
drawn into threads of extreme fineness, but it 
is not many years ago since it has been suc¬ 
cessfully woven with silk; a fact especially 
curious, as its brittle nature would appear to 
render such a method of manufacturing it im¬ 
possible. “ The fact, however,” says the Lon¬ 
don Times of 1840, “ is indisputable, the new 
material being substituted for gold and silver 
thread, than either of which it is more durable, 
possessing, besides, the advantage of never 
tarnishing. What is technically called the 
warp, that is, the long way of any loom- 
manufactured article, is composed of silk, 
which forms the body and ground on which 
the pattern in glass appears as the weft or 
cross-work. The requisite flexibility of glass 
thread for manufacturing purposes is to be 
ascribed to its extreme fineness, as not less 
than fifty or sixty of the original threads 
(produced by steam-power) are required to 
form one thread for the loom. The process 
is slow, as not more than a yard can be manu¬ 
factured in twelve hours. The work, how¬ 
ever, is extremely beautiful, and compara¬ 
tively cheap, inasmuch as no similar stuff, 
where bullion is really introduced, can be 
purchased at anything like the price at which 
this is sold ; added to this, it is, as far as the 
glass is concerned, imperishable.” 

Besides glass, man}'’ other materials—at 
one time regarded the most refractory and 
unlikely—have been adopted in the manu¬ 
facture of textile fabrics, as well as in the 
fabrication of articles of economy and orna¬ 
ment. Thus, caoutchouc dissolved in naptha, 
and spread between two layers of cloth, con¬ 
stitutes the waterproof fabric of Macintosh ; 
cut into threads and ribands, it is woven into 
elastic ligatures and bandages; peculiarly 
prepared, it is employed in the formation of 
life-boats, as well as in the flooring of apart¬ 
ments ; it is used in the manufacture of boots 
and shoes. The new substance gutta-percha , 
is already being applied to innumerable in¬ 
genious purposes. The same may be said of 
papier mache , of which many articles of do¬ 


mestic use and ornament are now fabricated, 
and which is daily being adopted by the carver 
and cabinetmaker as a substitute for their 
most difficult panelling and fretwork. Leather 
also has recently been pressed into the same 
service; and so tough and endurable is this 
material, when properly prepared and mould¬ 
ed, that it is likely to be very extensively 
adopted as a substitute for carvings in wood, 
castings, compositions, metal, or even papier 
mache itself. There seems, in fact, to be no 
limit to the economic application of every 
substance which comes within the reach of 
man. We have now before us a fair speci¬ 
men of writing-paper made from the straw 
of the oat and barley. 

Several years ago an American patented a 
mode of making cloth by a pneumatic process, 
without spinning, weaving, or any analogous 
machinery. The mode is as follows : Into 
an air-tight chamber is put a quantity of 
flocculent particle of wood, which, by a kind 
of winnowing-wheel, are kept floating equal¬ 
ly ; on one side of the chamber is a network, 
or gauze of metal, communicating with an¬ 
other chamber, from which the air can be ab¬ 
stracted by an exhausting syringe or air- 
pump; and on the communications between 
the chambers being opened, the air rushes 
with great force to supply the partial vacuum 
in the exhausted chamber, carrying the floc¬ 
culent particles against the netting, and so 
interlacing the fibres that a cloth of beautiful 
fabric and close texture is instantaneously 
made. The only objection to cloth of this 
kind was its rawness, or liability to shrink 
after being wetted ; and for this reason, we 
believe, it has never come into anything like 
use for clothing. 

As an appropriate sequel to this, we notice 
another American machine, which has been 
recently constructed for facilitating the pro¬ 
cess of sewing and stitching. Its capabilities 
are thus described by a correspondent of the 
Worcester Spy : “ The machine is very com¬ 
pact, not occupying a space of more than 
about six inches each way. It runs with so 
much ease, that I shoxdd suppose one person 
might easily operate twenty or thirty of them; 
and the work is done in a most thorough and 
perfect manner. Both sides of a seam look 
alike, appearing to be beautifully stitched, 
and the seam is closer and more uniform than 
when sewed by hand. It will sew straight 
or curved seams with equal facility, and' so 
rapidly, that it takes but two minutes to sew 
the length of the outside seam of a pair of 
men’s pantaloons. It sets four hundred 
stitches a minute with perfect ease, and the 
proprietor thinks there is no difficulty in set¬ 
ting seven hundred in a ininate. The thread 
is less worn by this process than by hand- 









CURIOSITIES OF ART. 405 


sewing, and consequently retains more of its 
strength. The simplicity of the construction 
of this machine, and the accuracy, rapidity, and 
perfection of its operation, will place it in the 
same rank with the card-machine, the straw- 
braider, the pin-machine, and the coach lace- 
loom—machines which never fail to command 
the admiration of every intelligent beholder/’ 


MISCELLANEOUS ECONOMIC MACHINERY. 

Under this head we mean to allude to some 
of the more wonderful inventions which occur 
among the vast assemblage of machinery that 
is now everywhere employed to lessen the 
amount of human labor. A century ago, such 
apparatus was of a simple and scanty descrip¬ 
tion : agriculture could boast of nothing like 
machinery ; spinning and weaving were done 
by hand; ships were wafted by the breeze, 
or lay at rest when there was no breeze to 
waft them ; printing, paper-making, and in 
fact almost every art, was done with primi¬ 
tive hand-machines; thejoiner, blacksmith, and 
mason, toiled on with patient ingenuity, little 
dreaming that the time was approaching when 
a machine, guided by a single hand, would 
accomplish with ease the work of fifty. 
Those things which we now regard as rude and 
primitive, were look upon as marvels: a com¬ 
mon damask loom, or a thrashing machine, 
was a curiosity worth a fifty miles’ journey. 
Now all this is changed, and there is scarcely 
a single manual operation which is not less or 
more facilitated by mechanical aids. 

In agriculture, the flail is superseded by 
machinery driven by horse or steam power; 
Sowing, planting, and raking machines, of 
innumerable variety, are becoming of almost 
universal use, doing their work with such 
nicety, that we might almost ascertain the 
number of grains necessary to the planting of 
a field. Ploughing has, in some instances, 
been executed by steam apparatus; and 
draining has also come under the same om¬ 
nipotent sway. Even reaping, one of the 
nicest and most careful of all agricultural 
operations, has been successfully accomplish¬ 
ed by machinery, which does all but fasten 
the sheaf and arrange the corn in shocks. 
Thus one of the homeliest of all pursuits has 
its curiosities of art in the thrashing mill, in 
the ploughing apparatus, and in the more deli¬ 
cate and complicated reaping machine. 

In operations little removed from agriculture 
as regards nicety of manipulation or delicacy 
of finish, the potent arm of invention has also 
been exercising its control. An excavating 
machine has been perfected in the United 
States, capable of performing the work of 
twenty-five ordinary laborers, and that in all 
sorts of soils unincumbered with rock. Ma¬ 


chinery now presses peat into fuel, and fash¬ 
ions bricks by myriads; it breaks stones for 
macadamising roads, and dresses their surface 
for pavement; it sweeps streets with a pre¬ 
cision and rapidity which the scavenger can 
not equal; it saws and polishes the marble 
of the sculptor, and converts the most refrac¬ 
tory granite into the most beautiful ornaments. 
The joiner calls in its aid to saw and plane 
his timber; the cartwright to finish his 
wheels ; the cooper to build his barrels; the 
carpenter to fashion and finish his blocks ; 
and the worker in metals makes the same 
power roll his material into sheets, square it 
into bars, fashion it into nails—makes it pierce 
holes, fasten rivets; directs it, in fine, to 
cut, file, polish, or stamp, with a rapidity and 
precision which are all but miraculous. 

Again, if we turn to more delicate arts, we 
find its aptitude still more marvellous and 
universal. The sculptor and engraver per¬ 
form their most delicate touches and finest 
tints by its aid—a few hours producing a 
delicacy, complexity, and regularity of lines, 
which the human hand can never possibly 
accomplish. The jeweller and goldsmith 
makes it perform his most delicate operations 
in chasing and embossing; the watchmaker 
calls in its power and precision to fashion the 
nicest parts of his machinery; and the phil¬ 
osophical instrument-maker forms by its aid 
a screw, or divides a scale in proportions, 
which the microscope alone can decipher. 
In printing, we see its triumphs in the steam- 
press and the composing machine ; and also in 
the kindred apparatus for stamping, embossing, 
and coloring of paper, cloth, and other orna¬ 
mental fabrics. The paper-mill, in which 
rags are cleaned, converted into pulp, reduced 
to paper, and that paper sized, smoothed, and 
cut into perfect sheets, is indeed a curiosity; 
and yet it is only one of a thousand such in¬ 
ventions. Is it in spinning?—then, here we 
have the numberless improvements and com¬ 
plications of Arkwright’s invention as applied 
to cotton, silk, linen, or wool—these machines 
not only cleaning and carding the material, 
but drawing it out in delicacy fine as the 
slenderest gossamer. Allied to these are the 
thread, cord, and cable-making machinery 
scattered over our land ; as well as the curious 
inventions for braiding and plaiting straw, 
working network, lace, braid, caoutchouc 
fabric, and the like. As in spinning, so in 
weaving we have a vast number of machines, 
which, though in every-day operation around 
us, must ever be regarded with curious in¬ 
terest. The Jacquard, damask, and carpet 
looms, either worked by steam or by manual 
labor, are, in reality, greater marvels than the 
automata with which our forefathers puzzled 
themselves, and would be so esteemed, did 










406 THE RUSSIAN EMPIRE. 


not frequency and familiarity banish our won¬ 
der. To these we may add such recent in¬ 
ventions as the machine for the fabrication of 
card-web. This ingenious piece of mechanism 
unwinds the wire from the reel, bends it, cuts 
it, pierces the holes, inserts the tooth, drives 
it home, and lastly, gives it, when inserted, 
the requisite angle, with the same, or rather 
with greater precision and accuracy than the 
most skilled set of human lingers could ; and 
with such astonishing expedition, that one 
machine performs a task which would require 
the labor of at least ten men. An engine of 
live hundred horse-power would drive, it is 
calculated, one hundred such machines. 

Though wind, falling water, and animal 
power, may be, and are in many instances ap¬ 
plied to the movement of such machinery as 
we have above alluded to, yet there can be 
little doubt that, without the aid of the steam- 
engine, many of them would have never been 
thought of, or at all events never brought to 
their present perfection. It is to this, the 
most powerful and most uniform of all known 
motive forces, that the modern world owes its 
astonishing advances in the arts of civilized 
life ; to this that we still look for further and 
still greater advances. It is in our mines and 
beside our furnaces; in our factories and work¬ 
shops; in our mills, bakehouses, and brew¬ 
eries: it is on our roads and our rivers; and 
on the great ocean itself, bringing, as it were, 
the most distant and inaccessible places into 
close communion and reciprocation of produce. 
Exerting the strength of one man, or the 
power of one thousand horses, with equal in¬ 
difference, the steam-engine, in all its variety 
of form, is the most powerful auxiliary 
which man ever called to his aid. In all its 
forms, whether atmospheric, double-condens¬ 
ing, high-pressure or low-pressure, rotary or 
otherwise, it is a curiosity of art, as is the 
apparatus with which it is connected. Per¬ 
haps the most wonderful forms in which its 
power now manifests itself, are the railway 
locomotive, shooting along at the rate of sixty 
miles an hour, and in the giant iron steamer 
of three hundred and twenty-two feet long 
and fifty-one broad—a floating mass of be¬ 
tween three and four thousand tons weight. 

Had our limits permitted, we would have 
gladly particularized several of the curious 
machines to which we have merely alluded ; 
for whether in the making of a pin, or the 
forging of an anchor—in the spinning of a 
cotton thread, or in the twisting of a cable— 
in the framing of a button, or in the weaving 
of the most costly fabric—in the fashioning 
of a cart-wheel, or the construction of a loco¬ 
motive, the most ingenious machinery is now 
in requisition. Time, however, will blunt 
the edge of our curiosity. Locomotive en¬ 


gines, atmospheric railways, electric tele¬ 
graphs, steamships, and other present won¬ 
ders, will become as familiar as spinning- 
wheels were to our grandmothers, or as steam- 
engines are to ourselves. 


THE RUSSIAN EMPIRE. 

It is scarcely possible that the space which 
the Russian empire occupies on the map of 
the world should not force itself upon the at¬ 
tention. It forms the ninth part of the habit¬ 
able portion of the globe, and far exceeds in 
extent the empire of Rome when its dominion 
extended from the Euphrates to Britain. On 
the frontiers of China the Russian boundary¬ 
line is above three thousand miles in length, 
which is as long as a line drawn from the 
southwestern extremity of Portugal to the 
northeastern extremity of Europe, while from 
the most southern point of Greece to the 
shores of the Frozen ocean is not more than 
two thousand and four hundred miles. The 
distance from Riga, on the Baltic, to the haven 
of Peter the Paul in Ivamschatka, is above 
eleven thousand five hundred miles, and in 
the Russian “ Post-Book” a line of road is 
marked out in stages to a distance of eight 
thousand one hundred and thirty-four miles. 
A courier from St. Petersburg to Kamschatka 
is above a hundred days in performing the 
journey, and though for the latter part of it 
the rate of travelling is not very rapid, yet 
the usual rate is one hundred and sixty miles 
a day for the first forty days. 

When, however, we begin to examine the 
available strength and resources of such an 
empire as that of Russia, we find territorial 
magnitude is one of the causes which least 
contributes to substantial national power. 
The population of the empire amounted, in 
1836, to 61,000,000, or about one fifteenth 
of the human race, but it consists of many 
different races of people, some of whom are 
still in a nomade state, and wander with their 
flocks over the immense plains or steppes of 
Asiatic Russia, while others obtain a livelihood 
only by fishing and hunting. The plains pos¬ 
sess the ordinary qualities of fertility which 
are usually found in so extensive an area, 
the soil in many parts being extremely rich, 
but in others its properties are less promising, 
and districts occur which offer no inducements 
whatever to the agriculturist. Between the 
river Ob and the Frozen ocean, immense 
marshes and swampy forest prevail. The 
“government” of Tobolsk, though a thousand 
miles in width, contains but about five hundred 
thousand inhabitants; and in the northeastern 









THE RUSSIAN EMPIRE. 


extremity of the Russian empire, Captain 
Cochrane travelled four hundred miles with¬ 
out meeting a single individual, and in the 
course of a thousand miles he saw only 
one habitation. In the “government” of 
Archangel, which is three times as large as 
Great Britain, and equal in extent to the 
whole of the Austrian dominions, the popula¬ 
tion scarcely amounts to one for each square 
mile. Almost the only accommodation which 
the traveller finds in the inhospitable regions 
of Eastern Siberia, are the “ charity yourtes” 
erected every twenty-five miles by the public 
authorities. They are simply uninhabited 
log-houses, about twelve feet square, unpro¬ 
vided with windows, and in which shelter 
only is obtained. This, however, is the least 
favorable picture of the Russian empire, and 
is true in reference only to its northern parts. 
Extending from thirty-eight to seventy-eight 
degrees, it presents every variety of climate, 
from that of Spain and Portugal to the rigors 
of the arctic circle. The provinces of the 
central and southern parts are thinly inhabit¬ 
ed, though the soil and climate are highly 
favorable to the progress of industry and 
population; but in the south there is less of a 
national spirit than in the north, until we 
reach the disputed territory of Georgia and 
Circassia, where the authority of Russia is 
opposed by force of arms. The progress of 
converting the various people under the Rus¬ 
sian dominion to Russian habits and ideas is 
however proceeding as rapidly as could be 
expected. In the centre and in the south, 
instead of the thick fogs which brood over the 
shores of the Frozen ocean, and a climate 
which drives men from agriculture to the rivers 
and forests for their food, we find the vegeta¬ 
tion of the tropics and the most luxurious 
productions of the temperate zone. On the 
banks of the Don, the vine is the spontaneous 
produce of the soil, and attempts are at present 
making to cultivate the sugar-cane and the 
indigo plant. Between forty-nine and fifty- 
one degrees of latitude, in the territory occu¬ 
pied by the “ Line of the Cossacks of Sibe¬ 
ria,” melons and the tobacco plant spring up 
without cultivation. On the banks of the 
Irtish, the general summer diet consisted of 
bread, with fine melons and cucumbers, grown 
of course in the open air. “No part of the 
world,” says a traveller, “ can offer greater 
or more certain advantages to the agriculturist 
than the right bank of this river, where the 
soil is a rich black mould,” and it will be 
recollected it is Siberia of which lie speaks, 
a country regarded as proverbially inhospita¬ 
ble, which in truth it is over a great part of 

its surface. # 

Many of the finest provinces of the south 

of Russia were almost wholly uncultivated at 


407 


the commencement of the last century. Soon 
after the accession of the empress Catherine, 
she invited foreign colonists to settle, and 
ten thousand Germans, Swiss, French, and 
Swedes, were placed in above a hundred vil¬ 
lages, chiefly situated between the Volga and 
the Don. These villages appear to be very 
prosperous, and are rapidly increasing in 
population; the births to the deaths are three 
to one. There are besides, elsewhere, many 
other colonies of foreigners, particularly of 
Germans; and settlers are encouraged by 
exemption from taxes. The land unoccupied 
is still of immense extent. Captain Jones, 
who travelled through various parts of the 
Russian empire in 1826, speaks of extensive 
districts in the neighborhood of Taganrog, on 
the sea of Azof, possessing an extremely rich 
soil, “ in many parts perfect garden mould, 
and capable of producing any or every thing,” 
but the population was scanty, and not suffi¬ 
cient for the cultivation of the land. He 
passed over several tracts of sixty miles of 
desert in this fine region. 

From the preceding statements we may 
form some idea of the endless diversity of 
circumstances under which man exists in re¬ 
gions so varied as those comprised in the 
Russian empire. In one quarter the vegeta¬ 
tion is of a tropical character. At another 
(Nijnei Kolimsk, on the Frozen ocean), “the 
inhabitants manage, with great labor, to feed 
a couple of cows: hay is brought eighty 
miles distant for them.” Horses occasionally 
reach this place, but they never spend more 
than a few days here, during which they are 
obliged to live upon the tops and bark of 
bushes, or on moss. If we select any process 
of agriculture, we shall find a variety of 
means practised to attain the same object, 
each influenced, in a great degree, by local 
causes. Take the employment of animal 
power for instance, and while, south of To¬ 
bolsk, we find the sledges drawn by horses, 
north of that place only the reindeer or dogs 
are used. In the Crimea the two-humped 
camel is employed. In the neighborhood of 
Taganrog, the plough may be seen at work 
drawn by ten oxen, of the color and almost 
of the size of elephants. In other parts, 
oxen from the steppes of the Volga, the Don, 
and the Caucasus, are used in transporting 
goods, but not in tilling the land. Winter, 
which in some provinces is a season of inac¬ 
tivity and repose, is a period of life, bustle, 
and animation, in others. The wheels are 
taken off vehicles, and merchandise is trans¬ 
ported with extraordinary ease over the frozen 
surface of the snow. At this season the fares 
by the diligences are lower than at other pe¬ 
riods of the year. In a country of smaller 
extent, such striking diversities do not exist; 







Cronstadt, the town of the Crown,” Russia. 
































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































YOUTH AND AGE. 


but to give any satisfactory account of all 
those which are most prominent in the various 
arts of life in Russia would occupy many 
separate papers. 

In Russia there is scarcely anywhere to be 
met with that concentration of labor and ex¬ 
tensive application of animal and mechanical 
power which is found in this country. In 
many provinces the towns are few, and the 
communication between them difficult. There 
is little or no trade, and manufactures of the 
simplest kind are in their infancy. But the 
aggregate results of the industry of above 
sixty millions of people are of course very 
large. 

St. Petersburg is the principal seat of 
foreign commerce, as Moscow is of the vast 
internal trade of the empire. The former is 
the great maritime outlet of the gulf of Fin¬ 
land, and has an extensive communication 
with the interior by rivers and canals. Our 
engraving presents a view of Cronstadt, which 
is the great naval station of the Russian fleet 
in the Baltic, and is also the harbor of St. 
Petersburg, although thirty-one miles distant 
from that city. The waters of the Neva, on 
which St. Petersburg stands, are too shallow 
to admit vessels of large burden, their car¬ 
goes are therefore discharged at Cronstadt, 
and barges are employed in transporting them 
to the city. Cronstadt is built on an island 
about seven miles long and one broad, and the 
mouth of the harbor is strongly defended by 
a fortress built on an opposite rock. Here 
are extensive wet and dry docks, with store¬ 
houses and all the great establishments which 
are requisite in fitting out a fleet and keep¬ 
ing it in repair and fit for service, including 
foundries for cannon, ropewalks, &c. Canals 
are constructed which enable a ship-of-the- 
line to take in her stores close to the ware¬ 
houses. The Military canal, capable of con¬ 
taining thirty-five sail-of-the-line, besides 
smaller vessels, has become so shallow as to 
be incapable of admitting large ships. Cron¬ 
stadt was founded by Peter the Great. In 
1703, a ship from Holland was the first mer¬ 
chantman that had ever appeared in the Neva, 
and the captain and crew were treated with 
great hospitality by Peter. In 1714, sixteen 
ships arrived ; and from thirteen hundred to 
fifteen hundred now clear inward annually, 
of which one half are usually English. The 
navigation is open about one hundred and 
ninety days in the year—from the middle 
of May to the end of November. Cronstadt 
contains many good streets, which are well 
paved, but, with the exception of the public 
buildings, the houses are built of wood. The 
principal public edifices are the admiralty, 
the naval hospital, school for pilots, the ex¬ 
change, customhouse, and barracks. In sum- 


409 


mer, all is life and animation, for the activity 
of the year is crowded into the space of a few 
months; but as the winter approaches, and 
the last ships of the season take their depart¬ 
ure, fearful of being locked up by the ice, the 
scene changes, and all becomes dull. The 
summer population of Cronstadt amounts to 
about forty thousand, exclusive of soldiers, 
sailors, and persons employed in the dock¬ 
yards. 


YOUTH AND AGE. 

Human life is a series of developments, and 
at each new period, some new power is un¬ 
folded ; new experiences are likewise added; 
by which means not only are old prejudices 
frequently corrected, but the errors of our 
former conduct, exposed, condemned, and pun¬ 
ished. During the earlier epochs of our ex¬ 
istence, we are impelled by dim instincts with 
such impetuosity as permits small opportunity 
for reflection—a time, however, at length ar¬ 
rives when the man comes to a pause, and 
reverts his contemplation on the path which 
he has so far traversed. How much, in the 
haste of the transit, has been overlooked and 
neglected—how much injured and defaced— 
how many mistakes have been committed— 
how many wrongs inflicted and suffered ! 
Then follows the usual exclamation—“If my 
time were to come over again, how differently 
would I have acted ! But ah ! it is too late 
now !” And so the man commences again his 
swift career, hurrying afresh onward, and still 
onward, pursued by remorse and fear, until he 
reaches the goal—the grave. 

Meditating these facts, we are sometimes 
tempted to believe, that, if the prudence of 
age could be added to the impulse of youth, 
a great advantage might be gained for the in¬ 
dividual. But a difficulty exists against 
blending them in one and the same person. 
Happy, however, is the man who benefits by 
the dear-bought experience of his elders; 
who, duly influenced by the example of those 
who are not only aged, but also good and wise, 
has learned without suffering, what to avoid, 
and what to pursue. The counsel of a sage 
mentor in a parent, grandfather, or great-un¬ 
cle, can not fail of being advantageous in 
many important respects; but on the other 
hand, there are many counterbalancing disad¬ 
vantages : the young are enterprising—the 
old prefer safety to victory, peace to anxiety. 
In advising youth, old persons accordingly 
regard rather the dangers to be escaped than 
the object to be attained. This, in the way 
of caution, may, must be well; but if it 








410 YOUTH AND AGE. 


amounts to coercion, even in the slightest de¬ 
gree, it can not fail to have evil consequences. 
If, instead of persuading or guiding the judg¬ 
ment, it should substitute a control upon the 
volition of the young, it will fatally preclude 
action, stopping it at its very source. We 
have not, in such a case, combination, but 
mere displacement; young impulse is alto¬ 
gether put aside, and antique prudence takes 
exclusive possession. 

The caution of age should be used for the 
regulation, not for the annihilation, of the 
impulsive instincts of the ardent and juve¬ 
nile. Another danger, too, arises. Antique 
prudence may be obsolete prudence ; circum¬ 
stances may so have changed, as to make it 
the reverse of prudence at all. The world 
of commerce affords abundant instances of 
this, particularly in firms of long standing. 
A young man of good abilities, full of vigor, 
becomes for instance, by right of birth, a ju¬ 
nior partner in an old established business, 
and deems his fortune made. But in a few 
years, the concern, to the surprise of all, sinks 
and perishes. The surprise is the greater, 
because in the world’s estimation, the house 
was always considered particularly safe. It 
meddled not with modern speculatioas. It 
relied on an exceedingly old connexion, it did 
no business that it was not sure of—yet it 
failed. In fact, though it risked no losses, it 
achieved no gains ; and thus in the end suf¬ 
fered more than it would have done from bad 
debts or mistaken speculations. Meanwhile 
let us imagine, or rather simply state—for we 
record facts—the position of the junior in the 
firm. What was it? Anything more dis¬ 
tressing could scarcely be conceived. From 
the first he was powerless. He found an es¬ 
tablished method—a system of routine to 
which he was compelled to adhere. Of an 
enlightened understanding, and an enterpri¬ 
sing spirit, he at first attempted innovation, 
and aimed at those sources of profit of which 
more youthful firms availed themselves ; but 
was met so uniformly by the fixed habits and 
rooted prejudices of the older partners, that 
at length he succumbed to necessity, and fell 
himself, for the sake of peace, into the cus¬ 
tomary channels. Had he commenced busi¬ 
ness on his own account—thrown himself en¬ 
tirely on his own energies and resources, and 
been at once inspired by hope and controlled 
by prudence, he would in all probability have 
achieved brilliant success. 

Youth is proverbially rash, but the aged 
may show an equally dangerous rashness in 
holding doggedly to old and wornout notions. 
Accustomed to venerate what has existed for 
generations without challenge, the older class 
of persons are prone to oppose the slightest 
attempt at modification, and they suffer ac¬ 


cordingly. Many a warning, in the course of 
events is received; yet age is obstinate, and 
persists in the old course—not because it is 
right, but because it is old. The association 
of ideas, sympathy, determination of charac¬ 
ter, a sense of pride, while it recognises the 
peril, and other like motives, induce age to 
disregard the symptoms, and inspire it with 
courage to endure martyrdom, rather than in¬ 
cur the shame of a submission to change. 
Thus the inveterate controversialist will not 
confess a proven truth though convinced; 
falsely apprehending as a defeat what, if can¬ 
didly acknowledged, would be really a tri¬ 
umph, he wins a ruinous conquest, and wears 
a counterfeit laurel. Can we take up a 
newspaper without being made conscious of 
the hideous train of disasters which have en¬ 
sued in various European countries from a 
rash and unphilosophic persistency in what 
ought to have been long since modified and 
accommodated to the spirit of the age? The 
energies of France, outgrowing the routine of 
old dynasties, require a new electoral system ; 
being refused, the nation indignantly dissolves 
the partnership between her and the sover¬ 
eign. Such are the evils which flow from 
the substitution of the merely regulative for 
the dynamic forces themselves. 

The last illustration presents the topic un¬ 
der a graver aspect than it was our intention 
to have considered. Thus drawn, however, 
to the subject, we can not refrain from re¬ 
marking how often we hear that said with 
pride regarding institutions and systems, 
which, rightly regarded, should be otherwise 
spoken of. “ Thus long has stood this sys¬ 
tem without one iota of change—here, as we 
stood centuries ago, do we yet stand—what 
was thought and professed then, is still thought 
and professed. Change has often been called 
for, but never granted ; so that here, at least, 
we have one monument of the past that has 
never bent to the inconstant wind of human 
caprice.” If such a thing really exist in the 
world—which is gravely to be doubted—as¬ 
suredly this is a questionable boast. The 
minds of masses of men being liable to a con¬ 
tinual, though it may be slow and impercep¬ 
tible change, it is impossible for any institu¬ 
tion to go on unchangingly, without falling 
out of relation with the world. Its vital is 
changed for a nominal existence ; and so far 
from deriving strength from its antiquity, it 
derives weakness and danger. Institutions of 
this kind may be flattered up to the last day 
of their existence, with the external homage 
which they have been accustomed to receive, 
and ere four-and-twenty hours pass, they may 
be trampled on as noxious weeds, or quietly 
consigned to universal forgetfulness. Such 
catastrophes are clearly traceable to the error 








THE CROTON AQUEDUCT. 411 


of setting up persistency as the law of the 
world, the real law being change. Man con¬ 
tinually changes, and everything that would 
wish to live with him must consent to change 
too ; everything must partake of his eternal 
rejuvenescence, or take the consequences of 
becoming too old. 

It is the instinct and tendency of youth to 
transcend the limits of its actual experience. 
It presumes, assumes, idealizes, colors from 
its own rich heart, the outlines and forms of 
things, and anticipates results with a prophet¬ 
ic power that sometimes induces their reali¬ 
zation, but more frequently clothes the distant 
prospect with those enchantments which hope 
pictures as belonging to the future. Youth is 
the season of aerial castle-building—of count¬ 
less projects—of boundless aspirations—of 
infinite possibilities. But a period of limita¬ 
tion at length arrives—of aims more and more 
positive, objects more definite, an arena more 
contracted, and labors more special. The 
man has become the classman from home— 
the cosmopolite, or the patriot—the general 
lover, or an attached husband and father—the 
acquaintance of all, or the friend of a few— 
the wanderer or the domestic man, whom 
nothing can tempt from his chimney-corner on 
a winter’s evening. Much has been gained, 
but evidently much has been lost. While the 

J 

difficulty of blending in one individuality, the 
advantages of both conditions is freely ac¬ 
knowledged to be great, we are far from hold¬ 
ing it to he insuperable. There is much need¬ 
less waste of wealth, much extravagance of 
anticipation, much borrowing on the credit of 
the future, and much excess of all kinds, on 
which it would be well that youth should be 
timeously admonished. With all the regula¬ 
tions of experience, however, it is of equal 
importance, individually, and for social well¬ 
being, that the middle-aged and old should 
cultivate as far as possible youthful feelings. 
Let not “the glory and the freshness of the 
dream” of youth depart with the dream itself; 
some glimpses of the vision may surely sur¬ 
vive in memory. “Once more,” exclaims 
Byron, “ who would not be a boy ?” To 
“ carry the feelings of childhood into the pow¬ 
ers of manhood is,” says Coleridge, “ the 
prerogative of genius.” And what a preroga¬ 
tive it is? Yet it is not one so exclusively, 
that all men may not share in it, each in his 
degree. We would warn, therefore, the man 
of middle age from becoming the victim of 
fixed habits and acquired routine, to the ex¬ 
clusion of new impulses, and the pleasure 
that constantly attends them. Every day is 
a new day, every hour a new hour; the 
world is always becoming new, and creation 
is renewed every moment, so that nature is 
still in travail with fresh generations. Noth¬ 


ing, if we rightly consider it, is really old— 
not even age itself. To insist on guiding 
ourselves by the prejudices of yesterday, is 
merely to resist the progress of growth. 
Judgment, in its maturity, has nothing to 
dread from concession to increased knowledge. 
Its tendency is to deliberate—to move slowly 
—to stand still ; and it indeed needs the agi¬ 
tation of new ideas, interests, and opinions, 
to preserve it in a healthy state of life and 
action. An old man of our acquaintance, 
who as solicitously sought the instruction of 
new impressions, as others are anxious to re¬ 
ject them, declared to us that, as his under¬ 
standing became more and more illuminated, 
he felt as if he was growing younger every 
day : it was, moreover, evident to all that his 
intellect, owing to the freedom with which he 
had permitted it still to operate, was constant¬ 
ly to the last receiving fresh development and 
expansion. Happy the man thus united to 
an aged body, who yet owns a young mind ! 
His are at once the security of discretion, 
and the rapture of imagination—this sobered 
in its tone, and that vivified—and both coex¬ 
isting in beauty, like light and shade in the 
picture of a great master. 


THE CROTON AQUEDUCT, NEW YORK, 

On the 14th of October, 1842, the city of 
New York, held holyday—and well it might; 
for on that day, for the first time since its 
foundation, did its inhabitants enjoy the bles¬ 
sings of a cheap, copious, and permanent sup¬ 
ply of pure water. Hitherto, that essential 
requisite to existence was obtained from pumps 
and drawwells ; now, it flowed through the 
streets in the form of a fresh and sparkling 
river, spread out into extensive lakes, gushed 
forth in every square and park, and dissemi¬ 
nated itself in living rills of health and com- 
fort to the remotest alley. The accomplish¬ 
ment of such a purpose was, in truth, a tri¬ 
umph worthy of a civilized people—a feat 
more glorious and enduring than the squander¬ 
ing of ten times the amount of capital in gun¬ 
powder and bayonets. 1 hose who are ac¬ 
customed to sneer at the “utilitarianism of 
the age,” may regard the watering of a city 
as a mere ordinary incident, a fit-enough topic 
for the newspapers and small-talk of a week, 
and nothing more; but to the individual who 
can take an enlarged view of human progres¬ 
sion, and who knows how much of public 
health, comfort, and prosperity, depends upon 
a plentiful supply of pure water, it will ap¬ 
pear in its true light as a great national 
achievement. In such a light was the com- 










412 THE CROTON AQUEDUCT. 


pletion of the Croton aqueduct regarded by 
the citizen of New York; and, viewing it 
through the same medium, we proceed to lay 
before our readers some account of this mag¬ 
nificent undertaking. 

Like most modern cities which have rap¬ 
idly increased in population and importance, 
New York, so early as the end of last cen¬ 
tury, began to feel the necessity of a plenti¬ 
ful supply of pure and wholesome water. As 
with most modern improvements, too, depend¬ 
ing upon the consent of the many, there was 
a world of preliminary palaver and delay. 
In 1774, when the population amounted only 
to twenty-two thousand, the necessity began 
to be felt; in 1799, it was the subject of much 
talk, and even consultations with engineers; 
and again, in 1822, after a lapse of twenty 
years, a committee “ sat upon’* the subject, 
obtained a survey, drew up a report, and had 
the same approved of. Still, however, noth¬ 
ing was done; the inhabitants of New York 
continued to drink impregnated waters when 
they could obtain them ; when they could not 
it is humorously supposed they betook them¬ 
selves to “ gin-sling.” In 1824, the yellow 
fever committed fearful ravages; being all 
the more severe, that the inhabitants had not 
the indispensable element of cleanliness, to 
abate its effects. This roused the authorities 
to a keener sense of the importance of water; 
hence 1825, and 1826, are remarkable for the 
number of speeches, reports, prospectuses, &e., 
which the water-question gave birth to. Stall 
there was no actual movement. In 1831, a 
new committee talked of “more decided 
steps,” and besought the municipal authori¬ 
ties, “ no longer to satisfy themselves with 
speeches, reports, and surveys, but actually 
to raise the means and strike the spade into 
the ground.” These, it must be confessed, 
were bold words; but they brought no water. 
However, a more urgent monitor now ap¬ 
peared; and in 1832, the plague of the chol¬ 
era ravaged the filthy and unwatered city. 
This so stirred the inhabitants and authori¬ 
ties to a sense of their danger, that the latter 
now set about in absolute earnest to remedy 
the defect. Surveys and reports were execu¬ 
ted anew ; and after a few more last words 
and deliberations, the work was commenced in 
reality. In May, 1837, the spade was struck 
into the ground ; in July, 1842, the waters of 
the Croton traversed the aqueduct, and in 
October of the same year, were distributed 
throughout the city of New York, whose in¬ 
habitants hailed the event, “ with unrestrained 
enthusiasm and joy!” 

How this result was accomplished, at what 
cost, and with what success, we shall now 
endeavor to describe. The modes of supply¬ 
ing modern cities with water, are either by 


means of Artesian wells, by pipes which con¬ 
duct and distribute some distant spring, or by 
the engine pump applied to the water of some 
river, if luckily, such a source be available. 
The aqueduct, upon its ancient and gigantic 
scale, is rarely if ever resorted to, and here¬ 
in consists the novelty and interest of the 
mode adopted by the city of New York. 

An aqueduct, in its primitive sense, means 
simply a water-leader, a familiar instance of 
which is afforded in the common mill-course. 
The water is diverted from its natural chan¬ 
nel at the requisite height, and then led along 
in an artificial course to the point desired. 
Now this artificial channel may be simply a 
ditch, or it may be constructed of solid ma¬ 
sonry ; it may be open or covered ; it may 
wind along the sides of hills, so as to preserve 
the proper level, or it may be carried straight 
forward through hills and across valleys. 
The ancient aqueducts of Rome were gener¬ 
ally constructed upon the latter principle, be¬ 
ing carried through heights by tunnels, and 
across valleys and rivers upon arches—the 
arched portion of the structure originally giv¬ 
ing the name of aqueduct, just as the range 
of bridges which carry a railway across a 
valley is called a viaduct. The ancient prin¬ 
ciple was that adopted by New York; the 
Croton river is dammed up near its source, 
its pure and undefiled waters are conveyed in 
a channel of solid masonry through hills by 
tunnels, and over rivers and valleys by arches 
or embankments ; and after a course of forty 
miles, administers to the health and comfort 
of four hundred thousand human beings! 
The reasons for adopting this species of 
structure are obvious; an open canal would 
have been liable to receive innumerable im¬ 
purities from the wash of the country; a clo¬ 
sed one not only prevents waste by evapora¬ 
tion, and preserves cleanliness, but adds to the i 
strength and durability of the structure. 
The inequalities of the country between the 
source ol the Croton and the city of New 
York, were such, as entirely to preclude the 
idea of a plane, or continuous water-course, 
and the question to be decided was—whether 
the laying of pipes, or the construction of an 
aqueduct after the plan of the ancients, would 
be more economical, efficient, and permanent? 
After due consideration it was decided in fa¬ 
vor of the latter. 

Beginning with the Croton river, its sources 
are principally in the county of Putnam, at a 
distance of fifty miles from New York. 
They are mostly springs, which in that ele¬ 
vated and uneven country, have formed many 
ponds and lakes, never failing in their supply. 
There are about twenty of these lakes which 
constitute the sources ot the Croton river, and 
the aggregate of their surface areas is about 










THE CROTON AQUEDUCT. 


413 


three thousand eight hundred acres. From I sed. In addition to the quantity in the foun- 
these sources to the mouth of the Croton, at tain reservoir, we have sufficient in the res- 
the head of Tappan bay in the Hudson, the ervoirs of the city to supply one third of one 
distance is about twenty-five miles. The million at inhabitants for about twenty-five 
country bordering upon the Croton is gener- days, at the rate of supply before mentioned- 
ally elevated and uneven, not sustaining a Thus we find, should such a limit as we have 
dense population, and cleared sufficiently to supposed ever happen to the supply from the 
prevent injury to the water from decayed ve- river, the season of drought can not certainlv 
getable matter. The river has a rapid de- be supposed to continue "during the length of 
scent, and flows over a bed of gravel and time (about four months) that would be re. 
masses of broken rock. From these ad van- quired for the present population of the city 
tages, there is good reason to suppose that to exhaust the quantity in store when all the 
the water will receive very little impurity reservoirs are full. The minimum flow of 
from the wash of the country through which water in the river, where the dam is con¬ 
it flows, and there is no doubt that the sour- structed, has been stated to be twenty-seven 
ces furnish that which is peculiarly adapted millions of gallons for every twenty-four hours, 
to all the purposes of a large city. The wa- This would be a • sufficient supply for one 
ter is of such uncommon purit}', that in ear- million of inhabitants ; and should the popu- 
lier days, the Indians gave a name to the riv- lation of the city increase to one and a half 
er which signified “clear water.” millions, this supply, together with the quan- 

Again, as to the flow of water into the tity in store, will probably be sufficient dur- 
Croton, the capacity of the fountain reser- ing any season of drought. There is, there- 
voir, the discharge of the aqueduct, and the fore, no fear in regard to the supply for the 
sufficiency of supply, we are presented with present, and should the time arrive when the 
the following details : “ The medium flow of city will require more than the present facil- 
water in the Croton, where the fountain res- ities afford during low stages of the river, 
ervoir is formed, exceeds fifty millions of other streams may be found which can be 
gallons in twenty-four hours, and the mini- turned into the upper branches of the Croton, 
mum flow, after a long-continued drought, is or into the aqueduct along its course. Other 
about twenty-seven millions of gallons in reservoirs may also be constructed further up 
twenty-four hours. The dam on the Croton the Croton, to draw from in seasons of 
river is about thirty-eight feet above the lev- drought.” 

el, which was the surface of the natural flow Such are the wonderful capabilities of 
of water at that place, and sets the water what may be termed the “ feeders” of the 
back about six miles, forming the fountain Croton aqueduct, which is calculated to dis- 
reservoir, whieh covers an area of about four charge no less than sixty millions of gallons 
hundred acres. The country forming the in twenty-four hours! Some idea of this 
valley of the river was such as to give bold magnificent supply may be formed from the 
shores to this reservoir generally, and in cases fact, that the daily consumption of the prin- 
where there was a gentle slope or a level of cipal London water-companies (eight in num- 
the ground near the surface of water, exca- ber) amounts only to twenty-one millions of 
vations were made, so that the water should gallons. Of the architectural structure of 
not be of less depth than four and a half feet, the Croton aqueduct, it would be impossible 
The available capacity of this reservoir, down to convey any clear idea without the aid of 
to the level where the water would cease to sections and diagrams. A general sketch of 
flow off in the aqueduct, has been estimated the undertaking may, however, be presented, 
at six hundred millions of gallons. Could we As already stated, the fountain reservoir cov- 
suppose that the Croton river will ever, in ers about four hundred acres, and is formed 
any season of drought, fail to furnish a sup- by a dam thirty-eight feet in height, thus 
ply greater than would be carried off from creating a source one hundred and sixty-six 
this reservoir and the reservoirs at the city feet higher than the city of New York. At 
by evaporation, we have still a supply of wa- this dam are sluices or gates for regulating 
ter which would be sufficient for one million the discharge of water, and of course under 
of inhabitants during the space of thirty the superintendence of a competent manager, 
days (estimating the amount necessary for The interior of the aqueduct is, throughout, 
each inhabitant to be twenty gallons for every of an arched or elliptical form, founded upon 
twenty-four hours). But we may assume hydraulic concrete, built of squared stones, 
the number of inhabitants at present to be In crossing flats slightly below the intended 
one third of a million, and therefore we have level, it is raised upon solid embankments; 
a sufficient store of water in this fountain in crossing valleys or rivers, it is supported 
reservoir to supply them for the space of upon arches; and in passing through hills, 
ninety days, in the emergency before suppo- these arc tunnelled, to admit the mason-work 








THE CROTON AQUEDUCT.; 


414 


of the aqueduct, Roads and other thorough¬ 
fares are of course left unobstructed by the 
erection of bridges, just as they are when a 
railway is laid down. As the magnificence 
of aqueducts depends upon the height and 
number of arches requisite to carry them 
across valleys, it may give some idea of that 
under consideration, when it is stated that 
Harlem river is crossed by fifteen arches, sev¬ 
en of which are fifty feet span, and eight, of 
eighty feet, the greatest height being one hun¬ 
dred and fifty feet from the foundation to the 
top of the mason-work, This, it is true, is 
the clief-d'auvre of the aqueduct, but there 
are other bridges and embankments of no 
mean magnitude, the design and construction 
of which do credit to American engineering. 
No essential change occurs in the form of the 
channel-way from the fountain reservoir on 
the Croton, to the receiving reservoir on the 
island of New York, a distance of thirty- 
eight miles, except in crossing Harlem river 
to reach the island, and in passing a deep val¬ 
ley on the island, w'here the iron pipes are 
used instead of masonry, to provide for the 
pressure consequent upon a depression from 
the regular plane. Thus the source of this 
artificial stream may be said to combine two 
principles—that of the ancient aqueduct, and 
a descent and ascent as in ordinary pipes. 
Should it ever be resolved on to remove the 
tubes from these depressions, and to substitute 
arcades to maintain the regular inclination of 
the channel-way, a second tier of arches will 
be required in crossing the Harlem river, and 
a bridge of great elevation to span the ravine 
of the island. 

Having by the means now described, reached 
the receiving reservoir, at the rate of one and 
a half miles an hour, the surface-level, of the 
water is still one hundred and nineteen feet 
above the level of mean tide. From this it 
is conducted (a distance of two miles), to the 
distributing reservoir, where the surface- 
height falls to one hundred and fifteen feet, 
this last being the height to which the water 
can be made available in the city. The receiv¬ 
ing reservoir covers about thirty acres, and 
contains one month’s supply; while the dis¬ 
tributing. which is entirely built of stone, is 
four hundred and thirty-six feet square, forty- 
five feet deep, and contains twenty millions 
i of gallons. This last reservoir may be con- 
i sidered the termination of the Croton aque- 
i duct, and is distant from the fountain reservoir 
forty and a half miles. The w'hole cost of 
the work was about nine millions of dol¬ 
lars; and adding to this the cost of pipes, and 
arrangements for distributing the water in 
the city, it will make the total cost of supply¬ 
ing New York city with water, twelve mill¬ 
ions of dollars. 


Commenting on the comforts and blessings 
of this supply of pure water, Mr. Tower re¬ 
marks: “The time is not far distant, when 
New York will regard it as a treasure which 
was cheaply purchased, and will proudly 
point to the noble work which she has achieved 
not only as an example of her munificence, 
but as an illustration of what art and science 
can accomplish. With cleanly streets, and 
the public parks beautified with the fountains 
which send forth cooling and refreshing va¬ 
pors upon the air, the citizens will forget to 
leave the city during the warm months of 
summer; and the seashore, the mountain- 
tops, and watering-places, will fancy their 
beauty has faded, since they cease to be visit¬ 
ed. But health is no less promoted by the 
internal than by the external use of water; 
and it is to be hoped, that but a short period 
will elapse before free baths will be provided 
at the public expense for the use of the poor, 
as well as the public generally. Daily ablu¬ 
tion should be regarded as necessary as daily 
food or sleep. * * The lime contained in 

the previous well-water rendered it inapplica¬ 
ble to the purposes of brewing, tanning, wash¬ 
ing, bleaching, and many other processes in 
the arts of domestic economy: and, we be¬ 
lieve, the calculation would not be found ex¬ 
travagant, if we would say, that by the use 
of the Croton water, over $100,000 would 
be saved to the inhabitants of New York, in 
soap and soda, and an equal amount in tea and 
coffee. To this may he added the superior 
cleanliness of the streets, the diminution of 
danger from fires, and the consequent reduc¬ 
tion of the rates of insurance ; the improve¬ 
ment of the public health, and the consequent 
savingin medicine and physicians’fees; the in¬ 
crease of working days, and the extension of 
the average period of working ability among 
the laboring classes; and lastly, the moral and 
intellectual advancement of the entire popu¬ 
lation, attendant upon the improvement of 
their physical condition; each of which is 
not an unimportant item in the aggregate of 
public prosperity and happiness. The value, 
however, of an abundant supply of pure wa¬ 
ter to the city of New York is not to be es¬ 
timated by dollars and cents; if it were, it 
could be easily shown that it has not been 
purchased at too dear a rate, even were the 
expenses attending it increased to double the 
actual amount.” 

Several of the public squares of New' York 
are already adorned with beautiful fountains, 
mentioned by Mr. Tower as among the bles¬ 
sings which would result from the completion 
of this aqueduct. Some of them throw the 
water a hundred feet perpendicularly, not af¬ 
ter being raised by machinery, but by the 
force of the natural head alone. 












ALLSTON’S APHORISMS. 415 


OUR PARENTS. 

Respect to aged parents we consider one 
of the greatest virtues. There is no period 
in life, when our fathers and mothers do not 
claim our attention, our love, and our warm¬ 
est. affection* From 3 r outh to manhood, from 
middle age to riper years, if our honored pa¬ 
rents survive, it should be our constant study 
how we can best promote their welfare and 
happiness, and smooth the pillow of their de¬ 
clining years. Nothing better recommends 
an individual, than his attention to his parents. 
Permitting them to share in his prosperity 
and his honors, without burdening them with 
his perplexities and trials, is a mark of true 
affection, and will be a source of consolation 
through life. There are such dutiful chil¬ 
dren ; men whose highest ambition seems to 
be the promotion of the happiness of-their 
fathers and mothers. They watch over them 
with unwearied care—supply them with all 
their wants, and by their attention and kind¬ 
ness, remove all care and sorrow from their 
hearts. On the contrary, there are others 
who seem never to bestow a thought upon 
their parents, and to care but little whether 
they are comfortably situated or otherwise. 
By their conduct they increase their cares, 
embitter their lives, and bring their gray 
hairs with sorrow to the grave. Selfishness 
has steeled their hearts to the whisperings of 
affection, and avarice denies to their parents 
those favors which would materially assist 
them in the down-hill of life. Others too, by 
a course of profligacy and vice, have drained 
to the very dregs, their parents’ cup of hap¬ 
piness and made them anxious for death to re¬ 
lease them from their sufferings. Oh ! how 
fearful must be the doom of those children 
who have thus embittered the lives of their 
parents ! If there is a “ world of wo,” beyond 
the precincts of the tomb, surely they can not 
escape its horrors. 

There can be no happier reflection than 
that derived from the thought of having con¬ 
tributed all in our power to the comfort and 
the happiness of our fathers and mothers. 
When called away from our presence, as 
sooner or later they may be, the thought will be 
sweet, that our efforts and our care smoothed 
their decline of life, so that they departed in 
comfort and peace. If it were otherwise—if 
we denied them what their circumstances and 
necessities required—and our hearts were not 
like the nether millstone, it must prove a 
thorn in our flesh to sprinkle our days with 
sorrow and regret. 

Ye who are blest with parents, now be 
careful of your treatment to them. Receive 
mildly their reproofs, listen to their counsels, 
and obey them. If they are aged, and their 


“ days have dwindled to the shortest span,” 
think no care too great for you to bestow up¬ 
on them, no money foolishly spent that will 
purchase their comfort, and no time thrown 
away that is devoted to their happiness. 
Honor, respect, and love them. Spare no ef¬ 
fort in their behalf, and do nothing that will 
give them pain or grieve them in the least. 
Do thus, and your reward will be great. 
Your own offspring will honor you, you will 
be respected wherever you are known, and 
gain the approbation of Heaven. 


ALLSTON’S APHORISMS, 

In presenting an account of the late Wash¬ 
ington Allston, the Atheneeum places before 
its readers the following aphorisms of which 
he was the author. We are told that Mr. 
Allston wrote them on fragments of paper, 
which he stuck up around his room, as aids 
to reflection before he began his day’s work. 
Copied into our pages, they may be of use in 
lowering self-esteem in others beside painters. 

1. The painter who is content with the 
praise of the world in respect to what does 
not satisfy himself, is not an artist, but an ar¬ 
tisan ; for though his reward be only praise, 
his pay is that of a mechanic for his time, 
and not for his art. 

2. He that seeks popularity in art closes 
the door on his own genius, as he must needs 
paint for other minds and not for his own. 

3. Reputation is but a synonyme of popu¬ 
larity, dependent on suffrage, to be increased 
or diminished at the will of the voters. It is 
the creature, so to speak, of its particular 
age, or rather of a particular state of society, 
and consequently, dying with that which sus¬ 
tained it. Hence, we can scarcely go over a 
page of history, that we do not, as in a church¬ 
yard, tread upon some buried reputation. 
'But fame can not be voted down, having its 
immediate foundation in the essential. It is 
the eternal shadow of excellence, from which 
it can never be separated ; nor is it ever made 
visible but in the light of an intellect kindred 
with that of its author. It is that light which 
projects the shadow which is seen of the mul¬ 
titude, to be wondered at and reverenced, 
even while so little comprehended, as to be 
often confounded with the substance—the 
substance being admitted from the shadow, as 
a matter of faith. It is the economy of 
Providence to provide such lights ; like rising 
and setting stars, they follow each other 
through successive ages; and thus the monu¬ 
mental form of genius stands for ever relieved 
against its own imperishable shadow. 










ALLSTON’S APHORISMS. 


416 


4 . All excellence of every kind is but va¬ 
riety of truth. If we wish, then, for some¬ 
thing beyond the true, we wish for that which 
is false. According to this test, how little 
truth is there in art! Little, indeed, but how 
much is that little to him who feels it! 

5. Fame does not depend on the will of 
any man, but reputation may be given or ta¬ 
ken away. Fame is the sympathy of kin¬ 
dred intellects, and sympathy is not a sub¬ 
ject of willing ; while reputation, having its 
source in the popular voice, is a sentence 

; which may be uttered or suppressed at pleas¬ 
ure. Reputation, being essentially contem¬ 
poraneous, is always at the mercy of the en¬ 
vious and the ignorant. But fame, whose 
very birth is posthumous, and which is only 
known to exist by the echo of its footsteps 
through congenial minds, can be neither in¬ 
creased nor diminished by any degree of will. 

6. What light is in the natural world, such 
is fame in the intellectual, both requiring an 
atmosphere in order to become perceptible. 
Hence the fame of Michael Angelo is, to 
some minds, a nonentity ; even as the sun it¬ 
self would be invisible in vacuo. 

7. Fame has no necessary conjunction with 
praise ; it may exist without the breath of a 
word ; it is a recognition of excellence which 
must be felt, but need not be spoken. Even 
the envious must feel it; feel it, and hate it 
in silence. 

8. I can not believe that any man who de¬ 
served fame ever labored for it—that is, di¬ 
rectly. For, as fame is but the contingent 
of excellence, it would be like an attempt to 
project a shadow before its substance was ob¬ 
tained. Many, however, have so fancied. 
“I write, 1 paint for fame,” has often been 
repeated ; it should have been : “ I write, I 
paint for reputation.” All anxiety, therefore, 
about fame should be placed to the account 
of reputation. 

9. A man may be pretty sure that he has 
not attained excellence, when it is not all in 
all to him. Nay, I may add, that if he looks 
beyond it, he has not reached it. This is not 
the less true for being good Irish. 

10. An original mind is rarely understood 
until it has been reflected from some half- 
dozen congenial with it; so averse are men 
to admitting the true in an unusual form; 
while any novelty, however fantastic, how¬ 
ever false, is greedily swallowed. Nor is 
this to be wondered at; for all truth demands 
a response, and few people care to think, yet 
they must have something to supply the place 
of thought. Every mind would appear ori¬ 
ginal, if every man had the power of project¬ 
ing his own into the minds of others. 

11. All effort at originality must end either 
in the quaint or the monstrous. For no man 


knows himself as an original; he can only 
believe it on the report of others to whom he 
is made known, as he is by the projecting pow¬ 
er before spoken of. 

12. There is an essential meanness in the 
wish to get the better of any one. The only 
competition worthy a wise man is with him¬ 
self. 

13. Reverence is an ennobling sentiment; 
it is felt to be degrading only by the vulgar 
mind, which would escape the sense of its 
own littleness, by elevating itself into the an¬ 
tagonist to what is above it. 

14. He that has no pleasure in looking 
up, is not fit to look down. Of such minds 
are the mannerists in art; in the world, ty¬ 
rants of all sorts. 

15. A witch’s skiff can not more easily 
sail in the teeth of the wind, than the human 
eye can lie against fact; but the truth will 
often quiver through lips with a lie upon 
them. 

16. It is a hard matter for a man to lie all 
over , nature having provided king’s evidence 
in almost every member. The hand will 
sometimes act as a vane to show which way 
the wind blows, when every feature is set the 
other way ; the knees smite together and 
sound the alarm of fear under a fierce coun¬ 
tenance ; the legs shake with anger when all 
above is calm. 

17. Make no man your idol! For the best 
man must have faults, and his faults will usu¬ 
ally become yours, in addition to your own. 
This is as true in art as in morals. 

18. The devil’s heartiest laugh is at a de¬ 
tracting witticism. Hence the phrase, “ dev¬ 
ilish good,” has sometimes a literal meaning. 

19. There is one thing which no man, how¬ 
ever generously disposed, can give, but which 
every one, however poor, is bound to 'pay. 
This is praise. He can not give it, because 
it is not his own ; since what is dependent for 
its very existence on something in another, 
can never become to him a possession; nor 
can he justly withhold it, when the presence 
of merit claims it as a consequence. As 
praise then can not be made a gift, so neither 
when not his due, can any man receive it; 
he may think he does, but he receives only 
words; for desert being the essential condi¬ 
tion of praise, there can be no reality in the 
one without the other. This is no fanciful 
statement; for though praise may be with¬ 
held by the ignorant or envious, it can not be 
but that in the course of time, an existing 
merit will, on some one, produce its effects ; 
inasmuch as the existence of any cause with¬ 
out its effect is an impossibility. A fearful 
truth lies at the bottom of this, an irreversi¬ 
ble justice for the weal or wo of him who 
confirms or violates it.” 










View of Cincinnati from the water. 


















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































CINCINNATI. 


418 


CINCINNATI. 

When Columbus discovered tlie new world 
he was in search of a western route to Cath¬ 
ay, and India, whence he expected to bring 
back, if not treasures of gold and gems, in¬ 
telligence of the wonderful land Marco Polo 
had described. It was not until long after the 
discovery of the continent of North and 
South America, that it was ascertained that 
a new region, broad as the Atlantic, lay be¬ 
tween the ocean and the Indian sea, as the 
Pacific was then called. So deep-rooted was 
this belief that the French colonists in Cana¬ 
da, long after they had begun to be formida¬ 
ble to their English and Hollandish neighbors, 
in spite of many disappointments, followed 
the tracery of the Ohio and Mississippi in the 
full confidence that this mighty current could 
end only in the Western sea. They could 
not realize that nature in America had always 
acted on a grander scale than they were used 
to, and would have laughed, if told that not 
far above the mouth of the Ohio, was anoth¬ 
er great artery, which, by its tributaries wa¬ 
tered one valley, the superfices of which was 
larger than all Europe. 

They, with their limited views, were the 
discoverers to Europe of the Ohio , which, in 
the language of the tribe that dwelt on the 
bank from which the white man first beheld 
it, signified Beautiful Water. This the 
French translated into their own language, 
and by the term of La Belle river , it was long 
known in the histories of the Jesuit and Fran¬ 
ciscan missions, which, until the land the 
Ohio watered, became the property of the 
second North American race, were its only 
chronicles. Not until a later day did it be¬ 
come known to the English colonists and then 
so slightly, that even in the reign of Charles 
II. authority was given to the English gover¬ 
nor of Virginia, Sir William Berkley, to cre¬ 
ate an hereditary order of knighthood, with 
high privileges and brilliant insignia, eligibil¬ 
ity to which depended on the aspirant haying 
crossed the Allegany ridge, and added some¬ 
thing to the stock of intelligence of the region 
beyond, the title to all of which had been 
conferred by royal patent on the colony at 
Jamestown. 

Possessed of Canada, with strongly-defend¬ 
ed positions at Fort Duquesne (Pittsburg), 
and Fort Chartres, near the confluence of the 
Ohio and Mississippi, with the even then im¬ 
portant city of New Orleans, the wily states¬ 
men of the reign of Louis XIV., conceived 
the plan of enclosing the English colonies in 
a network of fortifications, and ultimately of 
controlling the continent. So cherished was 
this policy that treaties made in Europe, be¬ 
tween the crowns of France and England, 


never extended their influence to America, 
and for almost a century continued a series 
of contests, during which Montcalm, De Levi, 
Wolfe, and Braddock, distinguished them¬ 
selves and died. The result is well-known, 
Canada became English, the northern point 
cVappui of the system was lost, and the Ohio 
was no longer under their control. This pro¬ 
logue to the beautiful engraving of Cincinnati 
is given, because, though Pittsburg and Lou¬ 
isville are important cities, Cincinnati is the 
undoubted queen of the river. 

It was not, however, until the war of the 
Revolution, that serious attention was gener¬ 
ally directed to the Ohio, for the brilliant ex¬ 
pedition of Clarke against Kaskaskia (which 
is almost unknown, though in difficulty and 
daring it far exceeded Arnold’s against Que¬ 
bec) was purely military. Immediately on 
the termination of the war, emigrants began 
to hurry to the Ohio, and by one of the hard¬ 
iest of these, Cincinnati was commenced in 
1789. By the gradual influx of population 
into the west Cincinnati throve, and soon be¬ 
came the chief city of the region. 

For a long while Cincinnati was merely the 
depot of the Indians and fur trade, the most 
valuable of the products of which required 
to be transported across the mountains, and 
through forests to the seaboard. At that time 
Cincinnati presented a strange appearance ; 
the houses were of logs, and here and there, 
through the broad streets its founders so prov¬ 
identially prepared, were seen the hunter, in 
his leathern jerkin, the Indian warrior in full 
paint, and the husbandman returning home 
from his labors. Almost from the establish¬ 
ment of the northwest territory, Cincinnati 
had been the home of the governor; and it 
was the residence of St. Clair, long the only 
delegate in congress of the whole northwest 
—a wilderness then, but now teeming with 
three millions of inhabitants, and sending to 
Washington thirty-four representatives. 

Cincinnati was the point de depart of many 
of the expeditions against the Indians between 
the revolution and the war of 1812. When 
that war broke out it acquired new import¬ 
ance. Military men replaced the hunter and 
the Indian, and every arrival brought a rein¬ 
forcement of troops. From it Taylor and 
Croghan marched with Gen. Harrison north¬ 
ward, and to it the victorious army returned 
from the Thames. When peace returned, a 
new activity was infused into Cincinnati; the 
vast disbursements made by the government 
had attracted thither many adventurers. Then 
commenced the era of bateau navigation, and 
the advent of a peculiar race of men, of 
whom now no trace remains. Rude boats 
were built and freighted with produce, which 
descended the river to New Orleans, where 











OUR PILGRIM FATHERS. 419 


tlie cargo was disposed of, and the boat itself 
broken up and sold. The crew, after a sea¬ 
son of dissipation, returned homeward by 
land, through the country inhabited by the 
Choctaws, and Chickasaws, and the yet wild¬ 
er region infested by thieves and pirates. It 
was no uncommon thing for the boatmen nev¬ 
er to return. Exposure to danger made them 
reckless; and they were often seen floating 
down the bosom of the stream, with the vio¬ 
lin sounding merrily, but with their rifles 
loaded, and resting against the gunwales, 
ready to be used whenever any emergency 
arose. All the west even now rings with tra¬ 
ditions of the daring of this race; and the 
traveller on the w r aters of the west, often has 
pointed out to him the scene of their bloody 
contests and quarrels. 

The era of steam began, and this state of 
things passed away. The mighty discovery 
of Fulton created yet more activity in the 
west; and a current of trade, second to none 
on the continent, except perhaps, those of 
New York, and Philadelphia, sprung from it. 
As the states of Kentucky, and Ohio, began 
to fill up, the farmers and planters crowded to 
Cincinnati with their produce, and the char¬ 
acter of the population changed. The day 
of the voyageurwas gone, and lines of steam¬ 
boats crowded its wharf. The peculiar char¬ 
acter of the country around it, teeming with 
the sustenance for animals and grazing, made 
it the centre of a peculiar business which, 
unpoetical as it may seem, doubled every 
year, until in 1847, it amounted to more than 
the value of the cotton crop of the whole At¬ 
lantic frontier. 

Other branches of industry also grew up. 
Shipyards lined the banks of the river, and 
more than one stately vessel has first floated 
on the bosom of the Ohio, in front of Cincin¬ 
nati, been freighted at its wharves, and sailed 
thence to the ocean, never to return to the 
port of its construction. 

Long before the reign of merchant-princes 
began, stately churches, colleges, and commo¬ 
dious dwellings had arisen, and replaced the 
hut of the early settlers, so that Cincinnati, 
with the exception of Philadelphia, is become 
the most regular and beautiful city of the 
Union. The scene of the accumulation of 
large fortunes, cultivation has followed in 
their train, so that it is difficult for one who 
first visits it from the east, to realize that he 
is seven hundred miles from the seaboard. 

Fulton had by his discovery, overcome the 
difficulties of communication, and opened a 
market for its immense products ; but yet an¬ 
other discovery was to contribute to its pros¬ 
perity. By means of the magnetic telegraph, 
communication between the seaboard of the 
Atlantic and the lakes, is more easy than be¬ 


tween New York and Brooklyn, and with the 
whole west Cincinnati has acquired new im¬ 
portance. It can not but continue to advance 
and acquire yet more influence than it now 
has. 


OUR PILGRIM FATHERS. 

The settlement of New England forms an 
epoch in the history of colonization. Never, 
until that time, had such high principles, and 
such noble minds, been engaged in the great 
work of extending the bounds of the civilized 
world. Most of the founders of new states 
have been driven abroad by necessity ; while, 
in others, the spirit of adventure was kindled, 
sometimes by restless ambition or political 
discontent; sometimes by enlightened views 
of commercial profit; but oftener by dreams 
of sudden wealth. But in the fathers of 
New England we behold a body of men who, 
for the liberty of faith alone, resolutely and 
deliberately, exchanged the delights of home 
and the comforts of civilized life for toil and 
danger, for an ungenial climate and a rugged 
soil. They were neither desperate adventu¬ 
rers nor ignorant fanatics; on the contrary, 
there is every evidence that they generally 
possessed a much higher degree of mental 
cultivation than was common, at that period, 
among the English people. Indeed, the aus¬ 
terity of the moral habits of their immediate 
descendants, and the remarkable freedom of 
their language from the provincial dialects of 
England, afford ample evidence of the gener¬ 
al character of their ancestors. They were 
men 

“ who spake the tongue 

That Shakspere spake, the faith and morals held 

That Milton held." 

Nay, even if, in the pride of a vain philos¬ 
ophy, we should choose to suspect the praises 
of this portion of our English ancestry, as 
being but the delusions of national vanity, 
and to dwell more upon their faults and follies 
than on their virtues, still it is impossible to 
refuse some share of admiration to the talents 
and courage of these voluntary exiles, if we 
regard them merely as a bold and honest por¬ 
tion of that party, in church and state, which, 
to borrow the coarse but strong language of 
Warburton, had outfought the cavaliers, out- 
prayed the puritans, and outwitted the par¬ 
liament. The period at which they lived, is 
very remarkable for having been fertile in 
every form of irregular greatness, and they 
partook largely of the character of their 
times. In every great exertion of genius, in 











OUR PILGRIM FATHERS. 


420 


that age, whether in poetry, in eloquence, in 
moral and theological speculation, or in ac¬ 
tive life, there was an incongruous and unac¬ 
countable mixture of the gigantic and child¬ 
ish—of glorious truth and miserable preju¬ 
dice. Pope’s criticism on the poetry of Mil- 
ton may serve for a universal description of 
the talents of that day :— 

“ Milton’s strong pinion now not beaven can bound ; 

How, serpent-like, in puns, he sweeps the ground.’’ 

To trace the rise and progress of commu¬ 
nities, to follow the fortunes and elucidate the 
characters of those who have laid broad and 
deep the foundations of new associations, may 
seem perhaps to belong to the province of 
history, rather than to that of a brief article 
of the present character. We will, however, 
attempt the task, and casting our eves back 
for two centuries, conlemplate the ancestry 
from which we have sprung, and the events 
and causes which were connected with their 
enterprise and achievements. 

It is a difficult thing to give a correct nar¬ 
rative of events which happened long ago, 
and concerning which there is either a defi¬ 
ciency or a great variety of contradictory tes¬ 
timony. Bat for us the task is not so labori¬ 
ous or uncertain in its results. The story of 
our origin as a people is not obscure. We 
are not compelled to trace back our race 
through the confusion of barbarism, or to free 
it from the obscurity of fabulous narrative. 
The institutions of New England need no 
painful research or learned commentary; they 
have written and published themselves to the 
whole world, both by the lives and acts of 
those who established them and by the fruits 
which they have not ceased to bear since the 
time of their formation. 

It is related in the old mythology that the 
Greciail goddess of wisdom sprung from the 
head of Jupiter completely armed and every 
way mature. Quite as complete did New 
England spring into existence. From the 
first she was endowed with all the attributes 
of society, with free institutions, with civil 
order, with just regard for property and pro¬ 
tection for the rights of persons. 

The day on which New England dates 
her origin ought never to be forgotten nor 
disregarded. If the Fourth of July, 1776, 
in the estimation of the venerated John Ad¬ 
ams, be a day to be for ever commemorated 
with meetings of the people, with bonfires 
and all the signs of general rejoicing, so ought 
the 22d of December, 1620, to be held in 
perpetual remembrance. By our observance 
of those days, let us say to those who have 
gone before us, if perchance such communi¬ 
cation can be held with the departed, that we 
have not forgotten their labors, their suffer¬ 


ings, their dangers, or their sorrows. Yes, 
their children are grateful for the sacrifices 
they made, and the trials they endured, 
proud of their descent from such illustrious 
progenitors, and jealous of the goodly inheri¬ 
tance they have received. Let us keep 
alive in our hearts the recollections of our 
homes, recall the great features of past cen¬ 
turies, and take care that our fathers’ names 
be not forgotten among us. 

The children of New England, as such, do 
not arrogate to themselves any superiority 
over the inhabitants of any other part of the 
country, either as to origin, or social progress 
thus far accomplished. Conceding to all 
parts of the Union an origin as reputable and 
a progress as honorable as their own, they 
still may claim the right, as an individual 
family of the great community, to speak and 
write, concerning those firm and patient spir¬ 
its who laid the foundations of law and order, 
of constitutional freedom and rational prog¬ 
ress, so broad and so firm that they can sus¬ 
tain unmoved the weight of any superstruc¬ 
ture which may be elevated upon them. 

If we look at the origin and first settlement 
of New England, in what annals do we find 
the history of a people to be compared to 
this ? Uninfluenced by motives of ambition, 
unswayed by love of conquest, they aban¬ 
doned all the attractions that home and safe¬ 
ty could oiler, for the sole purpose of enjoy¬ 
ing liberty of conscience, of thinking and act¬ 
ing according to their own convictions, unre¬ 
strained by the control of old ecclesiasti¬ 
cal and political institutions. Behold them 
setting forth on their new and dangerous en¬ 
terprise ! Whose cheek blanches, what eye 
grows dim at the perils in their way ? And 
what dire necessity drives them forth? It 
is not like the poverty which urges the star¬ 
ving Irishman to quit his native island ; not 
like the Pole are they fugitives from the 
stem requirements of a military tyranny; 
nor, like the blue-eyed German of our day, 
do they go to escape the burdens of unrequi¬ 
ted labor ; theirs is an impulse more power¬ 
ful and more sacred. It is the still small 
voice of conscience, bidding them go forth in¬ 
to the wilderness to worship the God of their 
fathers in freedom and in peace, according to 
their own convictions, and in their own way. 

And who compose this devoted band ? Are 
they fiery and ignorant fanatics, or educated, 
and well-informed men of large experience, 
sagacious and wise ? The early settlers of 
Plymouth and New Haven, numbered men 
distinguished for learning and personal stand¬ 
ing. We might illustrate the assertion by 
referring to the characters of Winthrop, 
Carver, Bradford, Cotton, Brewster, Thatch¬ 
er, Winslow, Hopkins, and others, whose 










OUR PILGRIM FATHERS. 


421 


names are recorded on the Pilgrim Record. 
If we look at the whole body of the emigrants 
to New England, we can nowhere find names 
more eminent for prudence, steadfastness, 
honesty, and courage. If Lord Chatham 
could say that he had never read of a body 
of men superior to the Congress assembled at 
Philadelphia, what ought we to say of a body 
of men who did not venture on board ship, 
till they had framed a general law for the gov¬ 
ernment of their future community ? In what 
records of history do we find evidences of 
such solemnity of purpose, such courage, and 
such perseverance. 

No quality of our fathers is more striking 
or more admirable than their love for order, 
their regard to the just restraints by which 
society is held together, property protected 
and the rights of all established and secured. 
No men ever understood better than they the 
real nature of republican government, or more 
truly put it in practice than they in their 
sphere and circumstances. 

It should not be forgotten that when the 
project of the settlement of New England 
was first entertained, the public sentiment in 
England had begun to be favorable to such an 
enterprise. The papal power and influence 
had been shaken from its supremacy, and the 
minds of men were roused to independent ac¬ 
tion. In the place of forms and masses, the 
unadulterated spirit of Christianity had be¬ 
gun to prevail. And if the enjoyment of 
genuine religious freedom were not yet re¬ 
ceived even in England, still the waves of 
public sentiment had begun to heave and 
show that the time was approaching when 
they could no longer be restrained. When 
a true religious sentiment comes to control 
the action of a man or of a community, it 
takes complete and absolute possession.— 
Then all other motives are worthless, and all 
other subjects foreign. The strength of kings, 
the power of empires, are nothing in compar¬ 
ison. All earthly things in opposition to it 
have lost their influence, for then the soul, 
self-poised, cuts aloof from all worldly con¬ 
siderations, acts with regard only to what is 
divine and eternal, and holds itself responsi¬ 
ble only to its God. 

This sentiment forms the basis of the 
characteristic institutions of New England. 
But it was not solely that they might enjoy 
this sentiment uumolested by ecclesiastical 
control, that the first settlers of Plymouth 
sought this side of the Atlantic. That was 
not^their only motive for leaving Plolland. 
Not long after the reformation, the Dutch es¬ 
tablished freedom for all forms of religion, so 
that as far as liberty of conscience was con¬ 
cerned they had no cause of complaint. The 
church of Robinson might have remained in 


Holland without suffering any restrictions. 
What then, were the motives which first 
moved the pilgrims to leave Holland with the 
design of establishing new institutions far 
away from the land of their birth, among sav¬ 
age tribes and on rock-bound and inhospitable 
shores ? The religious motive was the con¬ 
trolling one no doubt. They left England for 
this cause, but joined with that, there were 
other causes for this new migration. 

First, there was a feeling of human misery. 
They were strangers in a strange land, yearn¬ 
ing for kindred associations, and with a love 
for their own native land in their bosoms, 
which no absence could subdue, and no cir¬ 
cumstances cause them to forget. According 
to Gov. Bradford, there was also the motive 
of poverty. They desired a better and ea¬ 
sier place of living. In Holland they saw 
that in a few years they must be extinguished. 
Moreover, as necessity was a task-matter 
over them, so they were forced to be such to 
their children and servants. And what was 
worse, many of their children were drawn 
away by the evil example of the Dutch; 
some becoming soldiers, and there was thus 
danger that after the death of the fathers, their 
names as Englishmen and their faith would 
become extinct. And last, but by no means 
least, they had the hope of advancing the 
kingdom of Christ, in these remote parts of 
the world. They knew that there were dif¬ 
ficulties which must be met with courage, for¬ 
titude, and patience; but they knew too, that 
the ends they had in view were good, their 
calling lawful and urgent, and that though 
they should lose their lives, yet their endeav¬ 
ors would be honorable. Plonorable indeed 
were the endeavors sustained by such high 
principles and carried out with such indomita¬ 
ble energy and steadiness! 

Another cause was the desire of educating 
their children as they had been educated 
themselves, which in Leyden was impossible. 

Yes the love of the familiar institutions and 
customs of one’s native land, the yearning for 
kindred associations, that home-sickness of the 
heart, which even the great Roman orator 
could not suppress, are all observable in our 
ancestors. To satisfy these impulses they 
sought America. On these distant shores 
they would still he the subjects of the same 
king ; they would be Englishmen still; their 
country still the same; exiles no more, but 
a part of the British empire. The same flag 
that waved over the fields of their fathers’ 
fame would float over them, assuring them of 
its protection. They were proud of the na¬ 
tion from which they sprung. They would 
not suffer the ties that bound them to the spot 
where they were born to be entirely severed. 
Englishmen they would live and die, though 








OUR PILGRIM FATHERS. 


422 


in a distant land, preserving both their nation¬ 
ality and the language of their youth. And 
which of us is not ready to thank them for 
this great gift of this noble language, which 
our mothers first taught us to speak ? How 
grateful we may be that it was not lost in the 
jargon of Holland ? Who that peruses this 
would not rather have first spoken its accents 
than, as Dr. Johnson expresses it, to have 
been trained to “babble French”? Who 
would change it for the soft voice of Italy, or 
the sonorous dialect of Spain ? It is the lan¬ 
guage of Shakspere and Milton ; it is the 
language of the Pilgrims : and having sound- 
ed alarms in the cause of freedom through 
the tongues of Burke and Chatham, it has 
come to discharge the same office in the voi¬ 
ces of Clay and Webster. It is the language 
of free-born men, destined to spread out over 
hill-top and valley, nor will it cease to vibrate 
till liberty shall cease to have an abode upon 
the earth. 

We might here disprove the charges some¬ 
times brought against the Pilgrims, that they 
took land already partially occupied by the 
Indians. As a question of morals, we are 
not altogether clear that savages have a right 
to shut out from culture and improvement, a 
large portion of territory. The axe of the 
woodman rings quite as pleasantly in his ears 
as the warwhoop of the savage. Besides, it 
is well known and admitted, that the Pilgrims 
always were regardful of the rights of the 
natives. The world may be challenged to 
show one instance in which the first settlers 
disregarded the rights of the Indians. In 
their personal and political relations they 
were always on good terms with them, and it 
was not till more than half a century after 
the arrival of the May-Flower, that peace 
with the savages was disturbed. 

After the first struggles of the Pilgrims for 
existence w r ere over, we soon view them 
marching forward in the establishment of the 
new state. Having the power of making 
laws they entered on the business with clear 
conceptions of what they had to perform. 
They formed statistics suited to their own 
conditions, not based on any traditions. They 
evidently had a due respect for the English, 
but yet their reflections on the subject were 
entirely original. With bold defiance of cus¬ 
tom they commenced the course of legal re¬ 
form from the first. They exhibited no blind 
disregard of what was already in existence, 
while they instituted the most rigid inquiry as 
to how much of antiquity was suited to pres¬ 
ent exigencies. They w'ere the pioneers of 
Law Reform, and in fact nearly all the im¬ 
portant alterations made in the laws of our 
free states within fifty years, were directly 
borrowed from New England, and especially 


from Connecticut. There was not a sugges¬ 
tion in the statement of Lord Brougham of 
the reforms needed in the English law which 
was not anticipated in the legislation of the 
eastern states. Imprisonment for debt was 
abolished there two hundred years ago. The 
act of the state of New York abolishing im¬ 
prisonment for debt was almost exactly a 
transcript of the law of 1620 in Connecticut. 
The chief difference between the two stat¬ 
utes was that this primitive one was clear 
and explicit, while the modern was so confu¬ 
sed and uncertain that totally different con¬ 
structions were put upon it by different per¬ 
sons. 

If w r e contrast the laws of New England 

c* 

with those of Great Britain, they will show 
the vast improvements made by the Pilgrims 
in the registration of land, the laws of mar¬ 
riage, dower, divorce, inheritance, and in 
criminal law. To the clear understanding 
of civil and political rights which prevailed 
in New England from the beginning, may be 
attributed the ease with which the colonies 
in that quarter passed into the new form of 
government after the revolution. 

False notions have been very generally 
entertained with regard to the early legisla¬ 
tion of the colony of New Haven. The 
“Blue Laws of Connecticut,” as they are 
called, have become bywords of ridicule and 
reproach ; and yet, there is nothing more 
solemn, nothing more grave and dignified, 
nothing more imposing to be found in the rec¬ 
ords of history*? than the first acts of that col¬ 
ony. To the illustration of this point, had 
we the requisite room, much argument might 
be devoted. That colony adopted the Old 
Testament polity, and their chief require¬ 
ments in their rulers were that they should 
be men fearing God, lovers of truth, hating 
covetousness—and if we could have such 
men for our candidates now, every good man 
in the Union would identify himself with 
that party. 

The charge of religious intolerance is of¬ 
ten made. The Pilgrims did not come to 
New England for the purpose of establishing 
universal toleration; they came to preserve 
their own faith. And what if they were 
misguided and over-zealous? We are not to 
judge them by the light of this age and this 
country. Besides, this theory of unlimited 
tolerance, which, even at the present time, 
finds little favor, except in this free and 
charitable land, did not originate in minds 
filled with religious ardor ; the most tolerant 
man was not apt to be the most devout. 

We condemn their conduct in the case of 
the Baptists and the Quakers; and desire 
to make out no strong defence for the 
Pilgrims, or to palliate persecution in any 









OUR PILGRIM FATHERS. 


form; and while all intelligent persons admit 
that the glory of having first set an example 
ol a practical and extensive system of reli¬ 
gions freedom, was reserved for the puritans 
of England, who landed on these shores; 
yet the first legislator who fully recognised 
the rights of conscience, was Roger Will¬ 
iams,* a name less illustrious than it deserves 
to be ; for, although his eccentricities of con¬ 
duct and opinion may sometimes provoke a 
smile, he was a man of genius and of virtue, 
of admirable firmness, courage, and disinter¬ 
estedness, and of unbounded benevolence. 

The most that can be said in justification 
is, that the Pilgrims came especially to enjoy 
their own opinions, and to establish a com¬ 
monwealth of their own; and, therefore, it 
was considered by them no injustice to pass 
laws to banish schism. “Besides,” says the 
apologist, “Williams’ banishment was of his 
own seeking, and the time was chosen by 
himself; and further, though his view of the 
matter of toleration must now be admitted to 
be right in the abstract, we can not justly find 
fault with the fathers of New England for 
not adopting it then. 

“ As to the Baptists, only one individual 
was punished, and that one not for heresy, 
but for being a scandalous person, much giv- 

* He was a native of W ales, and emigrated to 
New England, in 1630. He was then a young man 
of austere life and popular manners, full of reading, 
skilled in controversy, and gifted with a rapid, copi¬ 
ous, and vehement eloquence. The writers of those 
days represent him as being full of turbulent and sin¬ 
gular opinions, “ and the whole country,” saith the 
quaint Cotton Mather, “ was soon like to be set on 
fire by the rapid motion of a windmill, in the head of 
this one man.” The heresy, which appeared most 
grievous to his brethren, was his zeal for unqualified 
religious liberty. In the warmth of his charity, he 
contended for “ freedom of conscience, even to Pa¬ 
pists and Arminians, with security of civil peace to 
all,” a doctrine that filled the Massachusetts clergy 
with horror and alarm. 

With a spirit of resolute independence, he depart¬ 
ed, no one knew whither, accompanied by a few of 
his people, who, to use their own language, had gone 
with their beloved pastor, “ to seek their providen¬ 
ces.” After some wanderings, he pitched his tent 
at a place, to which he gave the name of Providence, 
and there became the founder and legislator of the 
colony of Rhode Island. There he continued to rule 
sometimes as governor, and always as the guide and 
father of the settlement, for forty-eight years, em¬ 
ploying himself in acts of kindness to his fonner en¬ 
emies, affording relief to the distressed, and offering 
an asylum to the persecuted. The government of 
his colony was formed on his favorite principle, that 
in matters of faith and worship, every citizen should 
walk according to the light of his own conscience, 
without restraint or interference from the civil magis¬ 
trate. During a visit, which Williams made to Eng¬ 
land, in 1643, for the purpose of procuring a colonial 
charter, he published a formal and labored vindica¬ 
tion of his doctrine, under the title of “ The Bloody 
Tenet; or, a Dialogue between Truth and Peace.” 
In this work, written with his usual boldness and de¬ 
cision, he anticipated most of the arguments, which, 

___ __ 


423 


en to idleness and lying. The Quakers who 
were punished, were no more like the gentle 
and orderly Friends of the present day than 
the latter are like the Mormons. 

“ With regard to all these things, we 
should not use the eyes which have seen the 
improvements of two centuries, but judge 
from the sentiments of that time. It was 
easy to condemn the laws of Massachusetts 
against witchcraft; but had England no such 
laws ? Why, seventy years after Black- 
stone spoke ot witchcraft as a thing recogni¬ 
sed everywhere, both by history and by law, 
and under Sir Matthew Hale, who lived to 
1776, more persons were put to death in a 
single county of England than ever suffered 
in all New England together. In New Eng¬ 
land there were no executions after 1693, but 
in England death was inflicted for witchcraft 
as late as 1722.”f 

We might here dwell at great length on 
the freedom of the New England fathers from 
personal ambition, and truthfully set forth 
their conduct during the revolutions of Crom¬ 
well and 1688, as well as the part they took 
in our own revolution ; but the limits assign¬ 
ed to this article will not allow us to enlarge 
on these instructive and profitable themes. 
Their deeds of patriotism and bravery will 

fifty years after, attracted so much attention, when 
they were brought forward by Locke. His own con¬ 
duct in power, was in perfect accordance with his 
speculative opinions ; and when, in his old age, the 
order of his little community was disturbed by an ir¬ 
ruption of Quaker preachers, he combated them only 
in pamphlets, and public disputations, and contented 
himself with overwhelming their doctrines with a 
torrent of learning, sarcasms, syllogisms, and puns. 

It should also be remembered, to the honor of 
Roger Williams, that no one of the early colonists, 
without excepting William Penn himself, equalled 
him in justice and benevolence toward the Indians. 
He labored incessantly, and with success, to enlight¬ 
en and conciliate them; and, by this means, acquired 
a personal influence among them, which he had fre¬ 
quently the enviable satisfaction of exerting in be¬ 
half of those who had banished him. It is not the 
least remarkable, or characteristic incident of his va¬ 
ried life, that, within one year after his exile, and 
while he was yet hot with controversy, and indignant 
at his wrongs, his first interference with the affairs 
of his former colony, was to protect its frontier settle¬ 
ments from an Indian massacre. From that time 
forward, though he was never permitted to return to 
Massachusetts, he was frequently employed by the 
government of that province, in negotiations with the 
Indians, and on other business of the highest import¬ 
ance. Even Cotton Mather, in spite of his steadfast 
abhorrence of Williams’ heresy, seems to have been 
touched with the magnanimity and kindness of the 
man ; and after having stigmatized him, as the “ in¬ 
famous Korali of New England,” he confesses a little 
reluctantly, that, “ for the forty years after his exile, 
he acquitted himself so laudably, that many judi¬ 
cious people judged him to have had the root of the 
matter in him, during the long winter of his retire¬ 
ment. 

t Address of J. Prescott Hall, Esq., 1847, to which 
we are indebted for the substance of this article. 







POPULAR TASTE. 


424 


be preserved and transmitted to the latest 
generations. The descendants of the Pil¬ 
grims have spread themselves over every 
section of this widespread continent; the 
prophecy made by Mr. Webster, in a speech 
delivered at Plymouth twenty-seven years 
ago, that the sons of New England would 
stop only with the shores of the Pacific, 
has already become a portion of the history 
of the world. 

The following beautiful lines, from the 
gifted pen of Mrs. Sigourney, may be so 
appropriately introduced here, that we be¬ 
lieve our readers will, notwithstanding the 
length of this article, be pleased to see them 
in this connexion :— 

THE PILGRIM FATHERS. 

How slow yon lonely vessel ploughs the main ! 
Amid the heavy billows now she seems 
A toiling atom ; then from wave to wave 
Leaps madly, by the tempest lashed, or reels 
Half wrecked through gulfs profound. Moons 
wax and wane, 

But still that patient traveller treads the deep. 

—I see an icebound coast toward which she steers 
With such a tardy movement, that it seems 
Stern Winter’s hand hath turned her keel to stone, 
And sealed his victory on her slippery shrouds. 

—They land ! they land ! not like the Genoese., 
With glittering sword, and gaudy train, and eye 
Kindling with golden fancies. Forth they come 
From their long prison, hardy forms that brave 
The world’s unkindness, men of hoary hair, 
Maidens of fearless heart, and matrons grave, 
Who hush the wailing infant with a glance. 

Bleak Nature’s desolation wraps them round, 
Eternal forests, and unyielding earth, 

And savage men, who through the thickets peer 
With vengeful arrow. What could lure their steps 
To this drear desert ? Ask of him who left 
His father’s home to roam through Haran’s wilds, 
Distrusting not the guide who called him forth, 
Nor doubting, though a stranger, that his seed 
Should be as ocean’s sands. But yon lone bark 
Hath spread her parting sail; they crowd the strand, 
Those few, lone pilgrims. Can ye scan the wo 
That wrings their bosoms, as the last frail link, 
Binding to man and habitable earth, 

Is severed 1 Can ye tell what pangs were there, 
With keen regrets; what sickness of the heart, 
What yearnings o’er their forfeit land of birth, 
Their distant dear ones ? Long, with straining eye, 
They watch the lessening speck. Heard ye no shriek 
Of anguish, when that bitter loneliness 
Sank down into their bosoms? No ! they turn 
Back to their dreary, famished huts, and pray ! 
Pray, and the ills that haunt this transient life 
Fade into air. Up in each girded breast 
There sprang a rooted and mysterious strength, 

A loftiness to face a world in arms, 

To strip the pomp from sceptres, and to lay 
On Duty’s sacred altar the warm blood 


Of slain affections, should they rise between 
The soul and God. O ye, who proudly boast, 

In your free veins, the blood of sires like these, 
Look to their lineaments. Dread lest ye lose 
Their likeness in your sons. Should Mammon cling 
Too close around your heart, or wealth beget 
That bloated luxury which eats the core 
From manly virtue, or the tempting world 
Make faint the Christian purpose in your soul, 
Turn ye to Plymouth rock, and where they knelt 
Kneel, and renew the vow they breathed to God. 


POPULAR TASTE, 

In reading the lives of eminent literary 
men, we are more prone to look at the influ¬ 
ence of their works upon the public, than at 
the reflex influence of the public upon them. 
Vast as is the influence, for weal or for wo, 
of the productions of genius upon the multi¬ 
tude, there is a refluent power from the peo¬ 
ple, no less mighty; so that it may be said, 
every community has within its control, the 
character of its literary productions, and con¬ 
sequently, the moulding of its own moral 
character. 

To trace the influence of popular taste up¬ 
on literature, and to point out the true policy 
of the author, who w’ould write for immortal¬ 
ity, is the object of our remarks. The pub¬ 
lic, however much disdained and calumniated, 
in the intercourse of authors with each other, 
really has more of their regards, and “ shapes 
their ends,” to a greater extent than they 
might be willing to allow. As much as they 
may affect to despise it, it is the popular taste 
that moulds the character of their writings— 
makes them favorable to virtue or vice, and 
elaborate with the graces of rhetoric, or bar¬ 
ren of the ornaments of style. We are far 
from supposing that there are no exceptions to 
this rule ; on the contrary, there are some, 
who have withstood the debasing influence of 
the public, content with the neglect of their 
own age, if they might live with posterity. 

Among authors, the desire of fame, or of 
gain, are the two great incentives to exertion. 
Few are the men, that have devoted them¬ 
selves exclusively to literary pursuits, with¬ 
out one or both of these objects in view. 
The influence of their writings upon the mor¬ 
als of the community, has too often been lost 
sight of. Content if they could catch the ap¬ 
plause of the multitude, the moral tendency 
of their works has been little regarded. Of 
course, whether the author desired to hear his 
name on the lips of thousands, or to reap a 
large fortune from his exertions, it was for his 
interest to study the tastes of the people. 











POPULAR TASTE. 


Whether literature be pure or corrupt, 
characterized by elegance and refinement, or 
by a loose, careless style, depends very much 
upon the manners and taste of the age in 
which it is written. A brief glance at the 
history of English literature, affords abun¬ 
dant evidence of this position. In the reign 
of Queen Elizabeth, flourished “the witty, 
comical, and unparalleled John Lillie,’’ as he 
was termed by his successors. By his “ Eu- 
phues,” “ Court Comedies,” and other works, 
he introduced that false wit which character¬ 
ized all the productions of that age. A rage 
for punning infected all ranks, and was neces¬ 
sary to good standing at court. The literati 
conformed to the practice; and the orator at 
the bar, the preacher in the pulpit, and the 
dramatist on the stage, vied with each other 
in hatching unnatural conceits and torturing 
their mother tongue. Even Shakspere did 
not escape the influence of the prevailing 
taste, since he often descends from the majes¬ 
tic flights of his imagination, to the quibbling 
artifices of the punster. Instances of this 
character are still more numerous in the plays 
of Beaumont and Fletcher, while they abound 
in those inferior dramatists, who had too little 
originality at all to resist the predominant 
usage. Luring the reigns of James I. and 
his son, punning was succeeded by another 
species of wit; and the same tyranny was 
exercised over ideas, that in the former age 
had been exercised over words. Among the 
poets fostered by this age, were Ben Jonson, 
Donne, Cowley, and their contemporaries, 
distinguished as the metaphysical poets. 
These held their sway, till the voice of the 
muse was hushed in the broils of the civil 
war. When she awoke, after a twenty years’ 
slumber, she was characterized by the same 
antiquated garb, and the same lumber of the 
schools. The public taste, however, had un¬ 
dergone a great change, under the reign of 
the Protector, and it was comparatively easy 
for Dryden to throw off the. unnatural con¬ 
ceits of his predecessors, and introduce a new 
school of poetry. Fortunate had it been for 
English literature, if the corruption of mor¬ 
als under the licentious reign of Charles II. 
had not thrown its blight over the writings of 
this illustrious author, which were made a 
model by his contemporaries and successors. 
But for this, the productions of that bright 
constellation of worthies that adorned the age 
of Queen Anne, might have been free from 
those moral blemishes which render portions 
of their works exceptionable to a more refined 
age. 

Yet Dryden, whom critics place second on¬ 
ly to Milton and Shakspere, bowed to the 
prevailing fashion, and more especially in his 
plays has left abundance evidences of the un¬ 


425 


happy influence of the popular taste. Suc¬ 
ceeding authors yielded the same deference 
to the public, and it was long before literature 
recovered the purity of its earlier days. 
With the progress of society, a better taste 
has sprung up, and a corresponding purity in 
the writings of authors; till the nineteenth 
century has ushered in the purest age of Eng¬ 
lish literature—the age of Scott and Camp¬ 
bell, Coleridge and Wordsworth. Even where 
a complete reformation has not been effected, 
a restraining influence has been exerted. A 
Byron, Moore, or Bulwer, would have writ¬ 
ten far different in the age of Charles II. In¬ 
stead of the few spots that now tarnish their 
works, the whole would have been one mass 
of moral leprosy. 

The literature of other nations illustrates 
the same truth. France, distinguished above 
all lands for her infidelity and debauchery, 
has a literature no less distinguished for the 
same characteristics. The brightest light in 
her firmament, at once a philosopher, a poet, 
and an historian, is still better known as the 
prince of infidels. Her Rousseau, and Dide¬ 
rot, are second only to Voltaire ; while Piron, 
Crebillon, and the Marquis d’Argens, have 
blended in their writings the fairest images of 
fancy with the most revolting obscenity; and 
thus reared a monument to their infamy, 
while they have immortalized their genius. 
Unhappy France ! Who can look at the long 
catalogue of thy illustrious dead—thy poets 
and philosophers—without mourning over the 
richest endowments of intellect prostituted— 
the highest gifts of God sacrilegiously offered 
in incense at the shrine of atheism. Fair 
Italy, too, the land of the lover’s lute and the 
moonlit serenade, of bright skies and fadeless 
summers, affords another instance of the 
moulding power of popular taste. No other 
land could have reared a Tasso, or an Ariosto, 
a Petrarch or a Metastasio. Germany, the 
land of scholars and profound philosophers, 
has her characteristic metaphysical literature. 
The mystics and fatalists, once so prevalent 
there, filled the popular mind with ghostly 
superstition, and left their influence upon her 
poets and novelists. It breathes in the wild 
imaginings of Stolberg, the lofty conceptions 
of Wieland, and the gloomy splendors of 
Goethe and Schiller. What is true of mod¬ 
ern literature is equally true of the classics. 
That refined ear for the music of numbers, 
which characterized the ancient Greeks, and 
which caused even the smallest rhythmical 
mistake to be answered by the hisses of the 
audience, contributed not a little to the polish 
and elegance of their drama. With a less 
fastidious public for their judges, Sophocles, 
Euripides, and Eschylus, had not attained 
that perfection in their art which has made 







426 BIOGRAPHY OF THE HON. R. C. WINTHROP- 


their works the model of all succeeding ages. 
Thus literature, ever, to a certain extent, con¬ 
forms to the popular taste. 

This deference of the author to the opinions 
of the public, while in rare instances it may 
have its advantages, has generally deprecia¬ 
ted both the intellectual and moral excellence 
of literature. If we look into the private 
history of some of the brightest names among 
the British poets, we shall find melancholy 
evidence of this truth. There is many a fear¬ 
ful page in the record of their lives, but none 
more sad than the struggle between their true 
interest, and a desire to gain the approbation 
of the public. 

But this deference of authors to the public, 
exerted a bad influence upon the style of their 
writings. Familiarity with vice weakened 
the powers of their minds, and substituted a 
sickly effeminacy for sterling thought. Be¬ 
sides, when they were no longer guided by 
their own taste, they set up a false standard 
of excellence, and sought not so much to 
crowd their works with thought, and make 
them polished and ornate, as to make them 
popular. Of course, as the taste of the pub¬ 
lic was far less refined than their own, by 
seeking only to equal so mean a standard, 
their works went forth to the world far less 
perfect than they otherwise would have been. 
Regardless of the tribunal of posterity, which 
alone can give a man immortality, they 
sought that ephemeral popularity which pass¬ 
ed away with their setting sun. “ There is 
nothing,” says Irving, “ for which a man 
pays more dearly, than for his popularity 
while living.” It was this inordinate thirst 
for immediate renown that committed the six 
thousand productions of Hans Sachs, and the 
teeming progeny of Lope de Vega, to an 
early oblivion, leaving their names as warn¬ 
ing beacons to future authors. 

Popular taste, moreover, has generally 
guided authors in the choice of their sub¬ 
jects. If works of imagination be most ea¬ 
gerly sought after by the reading public, au¬ 
thors will turn their attention to fiction and 
romance. It is this that has flooded modern 
literature with puling sentimental novels. 
Another incentive to this species of writing, 
was the speedy rise of reputation. The man 
who pandered to their base appetite, soon 
rose to favor with the public ; while the phi¬ 
losopher and the historian toiled on, perhaps 
unknown while living, leaving to a wiser age 
to admire the monuments of their labor. 
While this was the case, few turned their at¬ 
tention to the more solid branches of litera¬ 
ture. Hence, where we have one Bacon, or 
Newton, we have scores of Smollets and 
Fieldings, Congreves and Otways; and for 
one “ Novum Organum,” or Principia,” the 


language is flooded with “Aurelias,” “ Pere- 
'grine Pickles,” “Old Bachelors,” and “Or¬ 
phans.” Many of this class of authors, once 
favorites with the public, have passed away, 
with little else than their names surviving on 
the page of history. The names of Bacon 
and Newton, will ever be among the first to 
meet our gaze, as we enter the temple of 
knowledge, while the great mass of poets and 
novelists will only be found after long search 
in by-corners, and amid the dust and mould¬ 
ering ruins of its voiceless halls. New aspi¬ 
rants for their fame will press them aside, and 
occupy their place in the public favor; so 
that those who seek for the poet’s or novel¬ 
ist’s fame, need not wonder if the palmy days 
of their reputation pass away with them to 
the tomb. 

If the view we have taken of the subject 
be correct, literature will not attain its high¬ 
est excellence until authors are freed from 
this servility to the public. They must be 
so far independent, as to make their own taste 
their guide, and to regard the decisions of 
posterity, rather than those of their own age. 
Those only, who have shaken from their 
minds the fetters of this slavery, have attained 
the most desirable fame. Milton committed 
his great work, the result of years of cease¬ 
less toil, to the world, and though it fell si¬ 
lently from the press, unregarded by that age, 
he had reared in the Paradise Lost a fabric 
enduring as adamant. The waves of Time 
may dash around it, but it will stand for ever— 
a monument of the truth, that he who writes 
for immortality must free himself from the 
bondage of Popular Taste. 


BIOGRAPHY OF THE 

HON. ROBERT CHARLES WINTHROP, 

SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES. 

We have much pleasure in presenting to 
our readers, a portrait of the Hon. Robert 
Charles Winthrop, speaker of the house 
of representatives of the present (thirtieth) 
Congress ; and the following interesting bio¬ 
graphical sketch, condensed principally from 
an able article in the American Review. 

This gentleman, whose preferment to the 
high official station which he now holds is a 
well-deserved and appropriate tribute to his 
personal worth and public service, has won a 
not less eminent place in the esteem of the 
whig party of the Union, by the fidelity with 
which he has devoted his talents, throughout 
an active political career, to the advancement 
of the good of the country. 


















































































































428 BIOGRAPHY OF HON. R. C. WINTIIROP. 


Mr. Winthrop’s participation in the pub¬ 
lic counsels is attended by a fortunate prestige 
of name and lineage. In both of these he 
may be said to be identified with the history 
of that portion of the country which he rep¬ 
resents ; and if there be any truth in the an¬ 
cient notion that an honorable ancestry con¬ 
stitutes a pledge to patriotism and virtue, he 
has an especial reason to acknowledge its 
obligations, and to find in them an incentive 
to the faithful and zealous performance of 
every public duty. He has descended through 
a long line of highly respectable ancestors, 
and stands in the sixth degree of lineal de¬ 
scent from that worthy and justly celebrated 
character John YVinthrop, the first governor 
of Massachusetts, whose biography we have 
already presented to our readers. 

Robert C. Winthrop was the youngest son 
of Thomas L. Winthrop, the late lieutenant- 
governor of Massachusetts ; and was born in 
Boston on the 12th of May, 1809, and was 
educated at Harvard; where, in 1828, he 
received his diploma, and with it, one of the 
three highest honors awarded to his class. 
He studied law under the direction of Daniel 
Webster, and was admitted to the bar of Bos¬ 
ton in 1831. He devoted but little attention 
to the practice of his profession, the bent of 
his mind inclining him much more to the 
study of public affairs than to the labors of a 
vocation which few men pursue but under the 
spur of a necessity, which, in the present 
instance did not exist. 

Mr. Winthrop entered into public life in 
1834, being then elected to the legislature of 
Massachusetts, and has since continued in the 
public service. He was the representative 
of Boston in the state legislature for six years, 
during the last three of which, he was the 
speaker of the popular branch of that body •, 
discharging the arduous duties of this post 
with an address and judgment which elicited 
the most honorable confidence and approba¬ 
tion from the body over which he presided. 

The house of representatives of Massa¬ 
chusetts at that time numbered between five 
and six hundred members. We may suppose 
the duties of the speaker in such a body to 
exact the highest degree of parliamentary 
skill and tact in their administration. In this 
school the incumbent found full and adequate 
experience; and lie left it after his three 
years’ service, with the reputation of an ex¬ 
pert and effective proficient in the rules of 
legislative proceedings. 

Mr. Winthrop first became favorably known 
beyond the limits of his own state, when, in 
1837, he visited the city of New York, at 
the head of the Massachusetts delegation, 
which assembled there with the delegations 
from the Whigs from many other states, to 


celebrate the great triumph of the whigs of 
New York, in the elections then recently 
held. It was a great meeting of congratula¬ 
tion, and intended to concert measures for the 
co-operation of the whig party in the presi¬ 
dential canvass which was soon to open. It 
was a brilliant prelude to the election oi 1840, 
of which the results were at once so glorious 
and so disastrous. 

On that occasion, no one drew more obser¬ 
vation in the large crowd there assembled, 
than the subject of this memoir. His speech 
in the Masonic hall, where the congratula¬ 
tions of the occasions were proffered and re¬ 
ceived, is still remembered by those who were 
present, as one of the most felicitous and at¬ 
tractive incidents of that memorable exhibi¬ 
tion. His vivid and animated eloquence 
stimulated the already excited feeling of the 
assembly to the highest key of exultation, 
and old and young left the scene of this event 
with common prediction of future eminence 
to the orator, and more extended renown 
among his countrymen. 

His congressional career began in 1840. 
The resignation in that year, of the represen¬ 
tative from Boston, Mr. Abbott Lawrence, 
led to the choice of Mr. Winthrop, by a ma¬ 
jority so decisive as almost to deprive the 
election of its title to be called a contest. He 
thus took his seat in the house of representa¬ 
tives at the second session of the twenty-sixth 
Congress. He was a member also of the dis¬ 
tinguished twenty-seventh Congress, where, 
among many worthy, he maintained a posi¬ 
tion with the best. A personal and private 
affliction compelled him to resign his seat in 
the summer of 1842, his place being supplied 
by the Hon. Nathan Appleton, who relin¬ 
quished it at the close of that session, to ena¬ 
ble his friend to resume his former seat at 
the commencement of the following winter ; 
which the latter did after an election almost 
without opposition. Mr. Winthrop has con¬ 
tinued ever since to represent the city of Bos¬ 
ton, by a suffrage equally honorable to him 
and to the constituency whose confidence he 
has so signally won. 

His seven years’ service in the national 
counsels have brought him very prominently 
before the nation. One of the most accom¬ 
plished debaters in the house of representa¬ 
tives, he has participated, to some extent, in 
the discussion of all the great questions which 
have been presented to that body, during his 
connexion with it. Habitually abstaining 
from an obtrusive presentation of his opinions, 
lie has never failed to say a right word at the 
right season ; he has, therefore, always spo¬ 
ken effectively, and in such a manner as to 
win the esteem and confidence of the house. 
A steadfast whig, his position has ever been 












BIOGRAPHY OF HON. R. C. WINTHROP. 


429 


conservative, strong in the advocacy of the 
national institutions, careful to guard against 
encroachments on the constitution, jealous of 
the ambition of party leaders, and prompt to 
denounce the excesses into which partisan 
zeal has often threatened to plunge the policy 
of the state. Looking with an enlightened 
view to the capabilities of the country, and 
justly estimating the elements of national 
strength and happiness embraced within the 
Union as it is, he has always contributed his 
aid to promote their development through the 
appropriate action of the constitution, and by 
the wise policy of protection and encourage¬ 
ment. 

In the attempts of the administration and 
its supporters to embroil the country in a war 
upon the Oregon question, he w r as the friend 
of conciliatory adjustment and peace, and had 
the gratification to find the labors of his com¬ 
peers and himself in that instance successful. 

We may take the occasion to observe here 
that, in the prosecution of this object, he was 
the first to propose in Congress a mode of set¬ 
tling the question, which, highly equitable 
and honorable in itself, was seconded by the 
approbation of the most judicious persons 
both at home and abroad. The following 
resolutions, moved by Mr. Winthrop on the 
19th of December, 1845, contain the earliest 
suggestion of an arbitration by eminent civil¬ 
ians. This resort was afterward formally 
proposed by the British government, and if it 
had not been most unwisely—we must think 
—refused by the administration, would have 
established a happy precedent for the settle¬ 
ment of international differences, and have 
placed the peace of the world, so far as the 
example of two of the most powerful nations 
might tend to establish it, upon the founda¬ 
tion of calm counsel and right reason, instead 
of leaving it at the mercy of tempestuous 
passion and the bitter supremacy of the 
sword. 

The resolutions referred to are in these 
words :— 

“ Resolved , That the differences between the Uni¬ 
ted States and Great Britain, on the subject of the 
Oregon Territory, are still a fit subject for negotiation 
and compromise, and that satisfactoiy evidence has 
not yet been afforded that no compromise which 
the United States ought to accept can be effected. 

“ Resolved, That it would be a dishonor to the age 
in which we live, and in the highest degree discred¬ 
itable to both the nations concerned, if they should 
suffer themselves to be drawn into a war, upon a 
question of no immediate or practical interest to either 
of them. 

“ Resolved , That if no other mode for the amicable 
adjustment of this question remains, it is due to the 
principles of civilization and Christianity that a re¬ 
sort to arbitration should be had ; and that this gov¬ 
ernment can not relieve itself from all responsibility 
which may follow the failure to settle the controver¬ 
sy, while this resort is still untried. 


, Resolved , That arbitration does not necessarily 
involve a reference to crowned heads ; and that, if a 
jealousy of such a reference is entertained in any 
quarter, a commission of able and dispassionate citi¬ 
zens, either from the two countries concerned or from 
the world at large, offers itself as an obvious and un¬ 
objectionable alternative.” 

In the more recent extravagances of those 
in power, who have committed the nation to 
all the responsibilities of the odious Mexican 
war, he has acted with the most enlightened 
whigs to give it a direction as favorable to hu¬ 
manity and justice as the phrensy of the ad¬ 
ministration will allow. Utterly opposed to 
the grounds upon which this war has been 
waged, and condemning the usurpation of au¬ 
thority, by which the president commenced 
it, i ie nevertheless, did not scruple to vote 
with the great body of the whigs in Congress, 
the first supplies of men and money, which 
seemed to be indispensable to the reinforce¬ 
ment of General Taylor at that moment of 
supposed exigency, of' which the administra¬ 
tion took such artful advantage. He has been 
consistently, ever since, an earnest advocate 
for peace on terms compatible with the honor 
and justice of a magnanimous and Christian 
people. 

The same moderation of opinion which 
appears in this speech, in regard to the great 
and exciting subjects there referred to, is con¬ 
sistently preserved by Mr. Winthrop upon 
other topics which have agitated the public. 
A sincere friend of the constitution, and ear¬ 
nestly desirous to maintain the harmony of 
the Union, he has conscientiously, we may 
say, refrained from those ultra views on the 
subject of slavery, in either the northern or 
southern aspect of the question, which have 
so unhappily and so unprofitably distracted 
some sections of the country. Liberal and 
tolerant upon that subject, he has firmly main¬ 
tained his own opinion against those on either 
side, who we may hope will acknowledge, in 
their calmer reflections, the wisdom and jus¬ 
tice of his moderation. 

The recent election of this gentleman to the 
honorable post he now fills in the house of 
representatives, is an expressive token of the 
good opinion he has won on that theatre where 
his talents have been most profitably exerted 
for the benefit of the country. No member 
of that house might better deserve this dis¬ 
tinction. His integrity as a man, his accom¬ 
plishments as a statesman, and his fidelity as 
a whig, render the choice of the house an 
honor to both the giver and receiver; while 
his parliamentary skill in the appropriate 
functions of his office enable him to requite 
the favor he has received, by the usefulness 
of his service. 

The address he made to the house, on the 












430 BIOGRAPHY OF HON. R. C. WINTHROP. 


occasion of taking the chair, exhibits a just 
appreciation of the duties committed to him, 
and affords an example of graceful dignity of 
style which may be commended to the imita¬ 
tion of his successors. It is worthy of being 
preserved, and we therefore submit it to the 
judgment of our readers :— 

“ Gentlemen of the House of Representatives of 

the United States :— 

“ I am deeply sensible of the honor which you have 
conferred upon me by the vote which has just been 
announced, and I pray leave to express my most 
grateful acknowledgments to those who have thought 
me worthy of so distinguished a mark of their con¬ 
fidence. 

“ When I remember by whom this chair has been 
filled in other years, and, still more, when I reflect 
on the constitutional character of the body before me, 

I can not but feel that you have assigned me a posi¬ 
tion worthy of any man’s ambition, and far above the 
rightful reach of my own. 

“ I approach the discharge of its duties with a 
profound impression at once of their dignity and of 
their difficulty. 

“ Seven years of service as a member of this 
branch of the National Legislature have more than 
sufficed to teach me that this is no place of mere 
formal routine or ceremonious repose. Severe labors, 
perplexing cares, trying responsibilities, await any 
one who is called to it, even under the most auspi¬ 
cious and favorable circumstances. How, then, can 
1 help trembling at the task which you have imposed 
on me, in the existing condition of this house and of 
the country ? 

“ In a time of war, in a time of high political ex¬ 
citement, in a time of momentous national controver¬ 
sy, I see before me the representatives of the people 
almost equally divided, not merely, as the votes of 
this morning have already indicated, in their prefer¬ 
ence for persons, but in opinion and in principle, on 
many of the most important questions on which they 
have assembled to deliberate. 

“ May I not reasonably claim, in advance, from 
you all, something more than an ordinary measure 
of forbearance and indulgence, for whatever of in¬ 
ability I may manifest, in meeting the exigencies 
and embarrassments which I can not hope to escape ? 
And may 1 not reasonably implore, with something 
more than common fervency, upon your labors and 
upon my own, the blessing of that Almighty power, 
whose recorded attribute it is, that * He maketh men 
to be of one mind in a house’ 7 

“ Let us enter, gentlemen, upon our work of legis¬ 
lation with a solemn sense of our responsibility to 
God and to our country. However we may be di¬ 
vided on questions of immediate policy, we are united 
by the closest ties of permanent interest and perma¬ 
nent obligation. We are the representatives of 
twenty millions of people, bound together by common 
laws and a common liberty. A common flag floats 
daily over us, on which there is not one of who would 
see a stain rest, and from which there is not one of 
us who would see a star struck. And we have a 
common constitution, to which the oaths of allegiance, 
which it will be my first duty to administer to you, 
will be only, I am persuaded, the formal expression 
of those sentiments of devotion which are already 
cherished in all our hearts. 

•* There may be differences of opinion as to the 
powers which this constitution confers upon us ; but 
the purposes for which it was created are inscribed 
upon its face in language which can not be miscon¬ 
strued. It was ordained and established ‘to form a 
more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic 
tranquillity, provide for the common defence, promote 


the general welfare, and secure the blessings of lib¬ 
erty to ourselves and our posterity.’ 

“ Union, justice, domestic tranquillity, the common 
defence, the general welfare, and the security of 
liberty for us and for those who shall come after us, 
are thus the great objects for which we are to exer¬ 
cise whatever powers have been intrusted to us. 
And I hazard nothing in saying that there have been 
few periods in our national history, when the eyes 
of the whole people have been turned more intently 
and more anxiously toward the capitol, than they 
are at this moment, to see what is to be done, here 
and now, for the vindication and promotion of these 
lofty ends. 

“Let us resolve, then, that those eyes shall at 
least witness on our part duties discharged with 
diligence, deliberations conducted with dignity, and 
efforts honestly and earnestly made for the peace, 
prosperity, and honor of the Republic. 

“ I shall esteem it the highest privilege of my pub¬ 
lic life if I shall be permitted to contribute anything 
to these results by a faithful and impartial adminis¬ 
tration of the office which I have now accepted/' 

Mr. Winthrop’s talents are of the highest 
order ; well and ably has he improved the im¬ 
portant advantages afforded him. Modest and 
retiring in his habits, kind and courteous in 
his manners, easy of access, strong and endu¬ 
ring in his friendships—a man peculiarly ami¬ 
able in all the amenities of private life. To 
do a kindness to another, without the knowl¬ 
edge of the world, constitutes his greatest 
happiness. No selfish or restricted principle 
is suffered to lurk in his heart. He is a man 
without guile or deceit, and a faithful and 
able adviser. Possessed naturally of a strong 
understanding, he seldom fails forming a cor¬ 
rect judgment on every important question, 
and in cases of difficulty his advice and opin¬ 
ion are invaluable, and to the benefit of his 
counsels his friends are always welcome. 
The speaker is forty years of age. He may 
be presumed to have a lengthened career of 
great public usefulness before him. As a 
general principle, it will always hold true, 
that men who throw aside the consideration 
of selfish aggrandisement, who put away the 
blandishments of pleasure in their youth— 
who dedicate themselves from the first dawn 
of manhood to their country, and the cause 
of political and religious freedom—whose vir¬ 
tues render their lives one scene of solicitude 
and anxiety for others’ happiness, will sooner 
or later enjoy the confidence and love of all 
whose good opinion is to be appreciated. In¬ 
deed, disguise it as we may, there can be no 
real happiness enjoyed, or public usefulness 
promoted, unless we adopt and pursue those 
objects calculated to enlarge the mind, meli¬ 
orate the disposition, and promote the best in¬ 
terests of mankind. 

We conclude this brief and imperfect 
sketch with the sincere expression of the hope, 
that his constituents may long enjoy his ser¬ 
vices, and open the way for him to yet high¬ 
er distinction. 










WASHINGTON NATIONAL MONUMENT. 


431 



WASHINGTON NATIONAL MONUMENT. 

On the seventy-second anniversary of Amer¬ 
ican independence, the introductory move¬ 
ment was made in an enterprise, the record 
of which, when successfully carried through 
to completion, will form a bright page in the 
history of our country. On that day, assem¬ 
bled thousands at Washington city, many of 
them deputations from distant sections of the 
Union, witnessed or participated in the au¬ 
gust and impressive ceremonies attending the 
laying of the corner-stone of a national mon¬ 
ument to the memory of George Washing¬ 
ton and his compatriots in the Revolution. 
Although nearly half a century has elapsed 
since the death of Washington, the enthusiasm 
with which this magnificent design has been 


entered into, is proof, if any indeed were 
wanting, that his memory is still green in the 
hearts of his countrymen. We fervently 
hope that the noble undertaking will be urged 
forward, until the topmost stone is placed 
upon its cloud-capped summit, and the mon¬ 
ument stands forth a transcendent and endu¬ 
ring memorial of a nation’s gratitude to him 
who was emphatically “the founder of an 
empire, the marvel of the world — 

“ Who burst the fetters of the land, 

And bade us to be free ; 

Who raised the dignity of man, 

And bade a Nation be.” 

The most prominent and imposing part of 
the proposed monument will be seen to be the 
obelisk shaft, rising from the centre to the 
height of six hundred feet, seventy feet 
square at the base and forty at the top. 
Around this shaft, elevated on a terrace or 
platform, twenty feet high and three hun¬ 
dred feet square, is to be erected a vast ro¬ 
tunda, supported by thirty massive columns, 
of twelve feet diameter, and forty-five feet 
high ; enclosing a gallery fifty feet wide, six¬ 
ty feet high, and five hundred feet in circum¬ 
ference. Above the colonnade will be an en¬ 
tablature twenty feet high, surmounted by a 
balustrade, fifteen feet high, making an ele¬ 
vation of one hundred feet for the rotunda or 
colonnaded building. On the top over the 
great gallery, and enclosed by the balustrade, 
will be a grand terrace around the great 
shaft, seven hundred feet in circumference, 
Jand outside the balustrade a walk or gallery, 
: six feet wide and seven hundred and fifty in 
circumference. The entrance and passage to 
the grand terrace will be by means of a rail¬ 
way of easy ascent encircling the great shaft. 
If the above plan and dimensions are carried 
out, this noble structure will be nearly three 
times as high as the monument on Bunker’s 
hill. Within the rotunda it is designed to 
place niches for the reception of statues of 
the signers of the Declaration of Independ¬ 
ence. 

The corner-stone, presented by a citizen 
of Baltimore, is a massive block of granite, 
weighing about twenty-five thousand pounds. 

The site of the monument was granted by 
Congress. It is on the banks of the Poto¬ 
mac, near the location of the Smithsonian 
institution, west of the capitol, and about 
midway between it and the president’s house. 

A committee having been appointed to 
make the necessary arrangements, stands 
were built for those engaged in the ceremo¬ 
nies, and also for spectators. Triumphal 
arches were erected, on one of which was 
placed a live eagle, forty years old, which 
had hailed the advent of General Lafayette 










































































































WASHINGTON NATIONAL MONUMENT. 


432 


to Alexandria, and which has since been 
presented to M. Vattemare, to be deposited, 
upon his return to France, in the National 
museum of Paris. The weather was singu¬ 
larly propitious. A fine rain had fallen the 
previous day, which had cooled the air and 
laid the dust, and the Beneficent Deity seem¬ 
ed to smile auspiciously upon the interesting 
and imposing ceremonies of the day. The 
j procession, which was decidedly the most 
splendid ever witnessed in Washington, was 
about an hour in reaching the site of the mon¬ 
ument, where everything was in readiness to 
lay the stone, which forms the commence- 
| ment of a structure, which, it is hoped, will 
endure till time shall be no more. The scene 
presented, after the procession had reached 
; the ground, was magnificent. It afforded 
one of the finest subjects for the pencil that 
an artist could desire. The whole plain was 
covered with human beings. The vast slo¬ 
ping amphitheatre of seats exhibited an un¬ 
broken sheet of human countenances, ex¬ 
pressing a deep interest in the imposing cere¬ 
monies, while over the whole the banner of 
the Union, spread and displayed by the wil¬ 
ling breeze, seemed proudly to extend its or¬ 
nament and protection. There were present 
delegations of the Cherokee, Chickasaw, 
Choctaw, Creek and Sawbridge Indians, who 
brought with them silver medals, struck in 
1786, representing Washington in the act of 
shaking hands with the red man, and under 
whose administration their forefathers made 
some of the earliest treaties of peace. To 
these Indians were assigned seats on the plat- 
i form near the orator, to whom they listened 
with profound attention, as did the immense 
assembly he addressed. During the advance 
of the procession the bells of the city contin¬ 
ued to toll solemnly. The ceremonies com¬ 
menced with an appropriate prayer to the 
i Throne of Grace, by the grand chaplain of 
the grand lodge of Maryland, the Rev. Mr. 
M‘Jilton, which was succeeded by a psalm, 

| to the tune of “ Old Hundred,” sung by the 
assembled multitude, with due solemnity and 
feeling. The Hon. R. C. Wintiirop, orator 
of the day, then arose and delivered an ad¬ 
dress, which was received with universal and 
merited applause. When Mr. Wintiirop 
had concluded, Mr. B. B. French, grand 
master of the grand lodge of the district of 
Columbia, delivered an appropriate address, 

| after which he descended from the platform 
on which he had stood to the corner-stone, 
and proceeded to deposite the articles selected 
to be placed in the cavity, and to perform the 
usual appropriate Masonic ceremonies of lay¬ 
ing it. A patriotic song was then sung by 
Mr. Eddy, and the benediction pronounced ; 
and thus terminated these interesting and 


solemn ceremonies. The procession now re¬ 
turned to the Pennsylvania avenue, where 
the military part of it was reviewed by the 
president of the United States, and afterward 
dismissed. 

The interest felt by all in this patriotic 
undertaking had been so intense, that it was 
found difficult to preserve the marble chips, 
taken from the cavity of the corner-stone. 
They were seized upon with the utmost ea¬ 
gerness, by visiters, and borne away to be 
preserved as mementoes of the event. The 
board of managers ordered square pieces of 
the stone to be wrought, labelled, and pre¬ 
sented to the several state delegations, to be 
deposited in the library or museum of each 
state and territory. They bore the following 

inscription: “To the state of -: this 

piece of the corner-stone of the Washington 
National Monument, laid July 4, 1848, is 
presented by the Board of Managers.” 

In the earlier arrangements for the cere¬ 
monies attending the laying of the corner¬ 
stone, the late venerable John Quincy Ad¬ 
ams was invited to deliver the address. His 
eminent ability, and intimate acquaintance 
with our national history, from its earliest 
days, and withal having possessed the per¬ 
sonal friendship of Washington—being thus a 
connecting link between the present and the 
generations that have passed away—rendered 
it peculiarly appropriate that he should per¬ 
form that service. But the increasing phys¬ 
ical infirmities of the “old man eloquent,” 
—and which, alas, so soon closed his long ca¬ 
reer of usefulness on earth—compelled him 
to decline. The Hon. Robert C. Win¬ 
throp w r as then solicited to discharge that 
duty. He complied, and the able manner in 
which he performed the service speaks highly 
for the judgment exercised in his selection. 
For purity of sentiment, graceful expression, 
and as an eminent tribute to the lofty and self- 
sacrificing character of the Pater Patrice , 
w'e do not believe this oration has ever been 
surpassed. We present our readers with it 
entire, in full confidence, that they will be 
gratified to possess this eloquent production, 
for perusal not only, but for preservation also 
among the choice literary gems that adorn 
their libraries. May its existence be coeval 
with that of the monument, the initiatory 
step in the erection of which, called it forth— 
that while the one, to the latest posterity, 
will speak impressively and symbolically to 
all who are permitted to look upon its majestic 
proportions, coming generations to the remo¬ 
test bounds of this widespread Union, may 
read in the other of, and be incited to emu¬ 
late, the exalted virtues of him who was 
“ first in war, first in peace, and first in the 
hearts of his countrymen.” 

















ORATION BY HON. 


ORATION 

PRONOUNCED BY THE 

HONORABLE ROBERT C. WINTHROP. 

Fellow-citizens of the United States: 

We afe assembled to take the first step 
toward the fulfilment of a long-deferred ob¬ 
ligation. In this eight-and-fortieth year since 
his death, we have come together to lay 
the corner-stone of a national monument to 
Washington. 

Other monuments to this illustrious person 
have long ago been erected. By not a few 
of the great states of our Union, by not a few 
of the great cities of our states, the chiselled 
statue or the lofty column has been set up in 
his honor. The highest art of the old world 
—of France, of Italy, and of England, suc¬ 
cessively—has been put in requisition for the 
purpose. Houdon for Virginia, Canova for 
North Carolina, Sir Francis Chantrey for 
Massachusetts, have severally signalized their 
genius by portraying and perpetuating the 
form and features of the Father of his country. 

Nor has the Congress of the nation alto¬ 
gether failed of its duty in this respect. The 
massive and majestic figure which presides 
over the precincts of the capitol, and which 
seems altogether in the acts of challenging a 
new vow of allegiance to the constitution and 
the Union from every one who approaches it, 
is a visible testimony—and one not the less 
grateful to an American eye, as being the 
masterly production of a native artist*—that 
the government of the country has not been 
unmindful of what it owes to Washington. 

One tribute to his memory is left to 
be rendered. One monument remains to be 
reared. A monument which shall bespeak 
the gratitude, not of states, or of cities, or of 
governments; not of separate communities, 
or of official bodies; but of the people, the 
whole people of the nation :—a national monu¬ 
ment, erected by the citizens of the United 
States of America. 

Of such a monument we have come to lay 
the corner-stone here and now. On this day, 
on this spot, in this presence, and at this pre¬ 
cise epoch in the history of our country and 
of the world, we are about to commence this 
crowning work of commemoration. 

The day, the place, the witnesses, the 
period in the world’s history and in our own 
history— all, all are most appropriate to the 
occasion. 

The day is appropriate. On this 4th day 
of July—emphatically the people’s day—we 
come most fitly to acknowledge the people’s 
debt to their first and greatest benefactor. 

Washington, indeed, had no immediate 
* Horatio Greenough. 


R. C. WINTHROP. 433 


connexion with the immortal act of the 4th 
of July, 1776. His signature did not attest 
the Declaration of Independence. But the 
sword by which that independence was to be 
achieved, was already at his side, and already 
had he struck the blow which rendered that 
declaration inevitable. 

“ Hostibus prirno fugatis , Bostonium rt- 
cuperatum ,” is the inscription on the medal 
which commemorates Washington’s earliest 
triumph. And when the British forces were 
compelled to evacuate Boston, on the 17th 
day of March, 1776, bloodless though the 
victory was, the question was irrevocably 
settled, that independence, and not the mere 
redress of grievances, was to be the moment¬ 
ous stake of our colonial struggle. 

Without the event of the 4th of July, it is 
true, Washington would have found no ade¬ 
quate opening for that full career of military 
and civil glory which has rendered him illus¬ 
trious for ever. But it is equally true, that, 
without Washington, this day could never 
have acquired that renown in the history of 
human liberty, which now, above all other 
days, it enjoys. We may not say that the 
man made the day, or the day the man ; but 
we may say that, by the blessing of God, they 
were made for each other, and both for the 
highest and most enduring good of America 
and of the world. 

The place is appropriate. We are on the 
banks of his own beloved and beautiful Po¬ 
tomac. On one side of us, within a few 
hours’ sail, are the hallowed scenes amid 
which Washington spent all of his mature 
life, which was not devoted to the public 
service of the country, and where still repose, 
in their original resting-place, all that remain¬ 
ed of him when life was over. On the other 
side, and within our more immediate view, 
is the capitol of the republic, standing on the 
site selected by himself, and within whose 
walls the rights which he vindicated, the 
principles which he established, the institu¬ 
tions which he founded, have been, and are 
still to be, maintained, developed, and ad¬ 
vanced. 

The witnesses are appropriate, and such 
as eminently befit the occasion. 

The president of the United States is here ; 
and feels, I am persuaded, that the official 
distinction which he lends to the scene has. 
no higher personal charm, if any higher pub¬ 
lic dignity, than that which it derives from 
its associations with his earliest and most il¬ 
lustrious predecessor. “ I hold the place 
which Washington held,” must be a reflection 
capable of sustaining a chief magistrate under 
any and every weight of responsibility and 
care, and of elevating him to the pursuit of 
the purest and loftiest ends. 


28 









434 WASHINGTON NATIONAL MONUMENT. 


Representatives of foreign nations are here; 
ready to bear witness to the priceless exam¬ 
ple which America has given to the world, 
in the character of him, whose fame has long 
since ceased to be the property of any coun¬ 
try or of any age. 

The vice-president and senate; the heads 
of departments ; the judiciary ; the authorities 
of the city and district; the officers of the 
army, and navy, and marines, from many a 
field and many a flood of earlier and of later 
fame; veterans of-the-line and volunteers, 
fresh from the scenes of trial and of triumph, 
with swords already wreathed with myrtles, 
which every patriot prays may prove as un¬ 
fading as the laurels with which their brows 
are bound : all are here, eager to attest their 
reverence for the memory of one, whom state- 
men and soldiers have conspired in pronoun¬ 
cing to have been first alike in peace and in 

war. 

The representatives of the people are here ; 
and it is only as their organ that I have felt 
it incumbent on me, in the midst of cares and 
duties which would have formed an ample 
apology for declining any other service, to 
say a few words on this occasion. Coming 
here in no official capacity, I yet feel that I 
bring with me the sanction, not merely of the 
representatives of the people, but of the people 
themselves, for all that I can say, and for 
much more than I can say, in honor of Wash¬ 
ington. 

And, indeed, the people themselves are 
here; in masses such as never before were 
seen within the shadows of the capitol—a 
cloud of witnesses—to bring their own heart¬ 
felt testimony to this occasion. From all the 
states of the Union ; from all political parties; 
from all professions and occupations ; men of 
all sorts and conditions, and those before whom 
men of all sorts and conditions bow, as lending 
the chief ornament and grace to every scene 
of life; the people—as individual citizens, 
and in every variety of association, military 
and masonic, moral, collegiate, and charitable, 
Rechabites and Red Men, sons of temperance 
and firemen, united brothers and odd-fellows 
—the people have come up this day to the 
temple-gates of a common and glorious re¬ 
public, to fraternize with each other in a fresh 
act of homage to the memory of the man, who 

was, and is, and will for ever be, “ first in the 

hearts of his countrymen !” Welcome, wel¬ 
come, Americans all! “ The name of Amer¬ 

ican, which belongs to you and your national 
capacity,” I borrow the words of Washington 
himself, “must always exalt the just pride of 
patriotism more than any appellation derived 
from local discriminations.” 

Nor can I feel, fellow-citizens, that I have 
yet made mention of all who are with us at 


this hour. Which of us does not realize 
that unseen witnesses are around us ? Think 
ye, that the little band, whose feeble forms 
are spared to bless our sight once more, are 
all of the army of Washington, who are uni¬ 
ting with us in this tribute of reverence for his 
memory? Think ye, that the patriot soldiers 
or the patriot statesmen, who stood around 
him in war and in peace, are altogether ab¬ 
sent from a scene like this ? Adams and 
Jefferson, joint authors of the declaration, by 
whose lives and deaths this day has been 
doubly hallowed; Hamilton and Madison, 
joint framers of the constitution, present, visi¬ 
bly present, in the venerated persons of those 
nearest and dearest to them in life; Marshall, 
under whose auspices the work before us was 
projected, and whose classic pen had already 
constructed a monument to his illustrious com¬ 
peer and friend more durable than marble or 
granite; Knox, Lincoln, and Green; Frank¬ 
lin, Jay, Pickering, and Morris; Schuyler 
and Putnam, Stark and Prescott, Sumter and 
Marion, Steuben, Kosciusko, and Lafayette; 
companions, counsellors, supporters, friends, 
followers of Washington, all, all: we hail 
them from their orbs on high, and feel that we 
do them no wrong in counting them among 
the gratified witnesses of this occasion ! 

But it is the precise epoch at which we have 
arrived in the world’s history, and in our own 
history, which imparts to this occasion an in¬ 
terest and an importance which can not easily 
be over-estimated. 

I can make but the merest allusion to the 
mighty movements which have recently taken 
place on the continent of Europe—where 
events which would have given character to 
an age, have been crowded within the changes 
of a moon. 

Interesting, intensely interesting, as these 
events have been to all who have witnessed 
them, they have been tenfold more interesting 
to Americans. We see in them the influence 
of our own institutions. We behold in them 
the results of our own example. We rec¬ 
ognise them as the spontaneous germination 
and growth of seeds which have been -wafted 
over the ocean, for half a century past, from 
our own original liberty-tree. 

The distinguished writer of the declaration 
which made this day memorable, was full of 
apprehensions as to the influence of the Old 
World upon the New. He even wished, on 
one occasion, that “ an ocean of fire” might 
roll between America and Europe, to cut off 
and consume those serpent fascinations and 
seductions which were to corrupt, if not to 
strangle outright, our infant freedom in its 
cradle. 

Doubtless, these were no idle fears at the 
time. Doubtless, there are dangers still, 








ORATION BY HON. R. C. WINTHROP. 435 


which might almost seem to have justified 
such a wish. But it is plain that the currents 
of political influence thus far have run deep¬ 
est and strongest in the opposite direction. 
The influence of the new world upon the old 
is the great moral of the events of the day. 

Mr. Jefferson's “ocean of fire’* has, indeed, 
been almost realized. A tremendous enginery 
has covered the sea with smoke and flame. 
The fiery dragon has ceased to be a fable. 
The inspired description of Leviathan is ful¬ 
filled to the letter: “Out of his mouth go 
burning lamps, and sparks of fire leap out. 
Out of his nostrils goeth smoke, as out of a 
seething pot or caldron. His breath kindleth 
coals, and a flame goeth out of his mouth. 
He maketh the deep to boil like a pot ; he 
maketh the sea like a pot of ointment.” 

But the Saint George of modern civiliza¬ 
tion and science, instead of slaying the dragon, 
has subdued him to the yoke, and broken him 
in to the service of mankind. The ocean of 
fire has only facilitated the intercourse which 
it was invoked to destroy. And the result is 
before the world. 

New modes of communication, regular and 
more rapid interchanges of information and 
opinion, freer and more frequent comparisons 
of principles, of institutions, and of conditions, 
have at length brought the political systems 
of the two continents into conflict; and pros¬ 
trate thrones and reeling empires this day 
bear witness to the shock ! 

Yes, fellow-citizens (if I may be allowed 
the figure), the great upward and downward 
trains on the track of human freedom have at 
last come into collision! It is too early as 
yet for anyone to pronounce upon the precise 
consequences of the encounter. But we can 
see at a glance what engines have been shat¬ 
tered, and what engineers have been dashed 
from their seats. We can see, too, that the 
great American built locomotive “Liberty” 
still holds on its course, unimpeded and un¬ 
impaired ; gathering strength as it goes ; de¬ 
veloping new energies to meet new exigencies; 
and bearing along its imperial train of twenty 
millions of people with a speed which knows 
no parallel. 

Nor can we fail to observe that men are 
everywhere beginning to examine the model 
of this mighty engine, and that not a few have 
already begun to copy its construction and to 
imitate its machinery. The great doctrines 
of our own revolution, that “ all men are 
created equal; that they are endowed by their 
Creator with certain inalienable rights ; that 
among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit 
of happiness ; that to secure these rights gov¬ 
ernments are instituted among men, deriving 
their just powers from the consent of the gov¬ 
erned ; that whenever any form of government 


becomes destructive of these ends it is the 
right of the people to alter to or abolish it and 
to institute a new government, laying its found¬ 
ation on such principles and organizing its 
powers in such form as to them shall seem 
most likely to effect their safety and happi¬ 
ness;” these fundamental maxims of the rights 
of man are proclaimed as emphatically this 
day in Paris, as they were seventy-two years 
ago this day in Philadelphia. 

And not in Paris alone. The whole civil¬ 
ized world resounds with American opinions 
and American principles. Every vale is vocal 
with them. Every mountain has found a 
tongue for them. 

“-Sonitum toto Germania coelo 

Audiit, et insolitis tremuemnt motibus Alpes." 

Everywhere the people are heard calling 
their rulers to account and holding them to a 
just responsibility. Everywhere the cry is 
raised for the elective franchise, the trial by 
jury, the freedom of the press, written con¬ 
stitutions, representative systems, republican 
forms. 

In some cases, most fortunately, the rulers 
themselves have not escaped some seasonable 
symptoms of the pervading fervor for freedom, 
and have nobly anticipated the demands of 
their subjects. To the sovereign pontiff of 
the Roman states in particular, belongs the 
honor of having led the way in the great 
movement of the day, and no American will 
withhold from him a cordial tribute of respect 
and admiration for whatever he has done or 
designed for the regeneration of Italy. Glo¬ 
rious, indeed, on the page of history will be 
the name of Pius IX., if the rise of another 
Rome shall be traced to his wise and liberal 
policy. Yet not less truly glorious, if his 
own authority should date its decline to his 
noble refusal to lend his apostolical sanction 
to a w r ar of conquest. 

For Italy, however, and for France, and 
for the whole European world alike, a great 
work still remains. A rational, practical, 
enduring liberty can not be acquired in a par¬ 
oxysm, can not be established by a proclama¬ 
tion. It is not—our own history proves that 
it is not— 

“ The hasty product of the day, 

But the well-ripened fruit of wise delay." 

The redress of a few crying grievances, the 
reform of a few glaring abuses, the banish¬ 
ment of a minister, the burning of a throne, 
the overthrow of a dynasty, these are but 
scanty preparations for the mighty under¬ 
taking upon "which they have entered. New 
systems are to be constructed ; new forms to 
be established ; new governments to be in¬ 
stituted, organized, and administered, upon 
principles which shall reconcile the seeming 












WASHINGTON NATIONAL MONUMENT. 


436 


conflict between liberty and law, and secure 
to every one the enjoyment of regulated con¬ 
stitutional freedom. 

And it is at this moment, fellow-citizens, 
when this vast labor is about to be commenced, 
when the files of the Old World are searched 
in vain for precedents, and the file-leaders of 
the Old World are looked to in vain for 
pioneers, and when all eyes are strained to 
find the men, to find the man, who is sufficient 
for these things, it is at such a moment that 
we are assembled on this pinnacle of the 
American republic—I might almost say by 
some divine impulse and direction—to hold up 
afresh to the admiration and imitation of man¬ 
kind the character and example of George 
Washington. 

Let us contemplate that character and that 
example for a moment, and see whether there 
be anything in all the treasures of our country’s 
fame, I do not say merely of equal intrinsic 
value, but of such eminent adaptation to the 
exigencies of the time and the immediate wants 
of the world. 

I will enter into no details of his personal 
history. Washington’s birthday is a national 
festival. His whole life, boyhood and man¬ 
hood, has been learned by heart by us all. 
Who knows not that he was a self-made 
man? Who knows not that the only educa¬ 
tion which he enjoyed was that of the common 
schools of Virginia, which, at that day, were 
of the very commonest sort ? Who remem¬ 
bers not those extraordinary youthful adven¬ 
tures, by which he was trained up to the 
great work of his destiny ? Who remembers 
not the labors and exposures which he en¬ 
countered as a land surveyor at the early age 
of sixteen years ? Who has forgotten the 
perils of his journey of forty-one days, and 
live hundred and sixty miles, from Williams¬ 
burg to French creek, when sent, at the age 
of only twenty-one, as commissioner from 
Governor Dinwiddie, to demand of the French 
forces their authority for invading the king’s 
dominions ? Who has not followed him a 
hundred times, with breathless anxiety, as he 
threads his way through that pathless wilder¬ 
ness, at one moment fired at by Indians at 
fifteen paces, at the next wrecked upon a raft 
amid snow and ice, and subjected throughout 
to every danger, which treacherous elements 
or still more treacherous enemies could in¬ 
volve ? Who has forgotten his hardly less 
miraculous escape, a few years later, on the 
banks of the Monongahela, when, foremost in 
that fearful fight, he was the only mounted 
officer of the British troops who was not either 
killed or desperately wounded ? 

Let me not speak of Washington as a 
merely self-made man. There were influ¬ 
ences employed in moulding and making him, 

. ' .. T- i'iziz:. :.: ' . : • i:. 


far, far above his own control. Bereft of his 
father at the tender age of eleven years, he 
had a mother left, to whom the world can 
never over-estimate its debt. And higher, 
holier still, was the guardianship so signally 
manifested in more than one event of his life. 
“By the all-powerful dispensations of Provi¬ 
dence,” wrote Washington himself to his 
venerated parent, after Braddock’s defeat, “I 
have been protected beyond all human prob¬ 
ability or expectation ; for I had four bullets 
through my coat, and two horses shot under 
me; yet I escaped unhurt, although death 
was leveling my companions on every side 
of me.” Well did the eloquent pastor of a 
neighboring parish, on his return, point out 
to the public that heroic youth, Colonel Wash¬ 
ington, w r hom (says he) “I can not but hope 
Providence has hitherto preserved in so signal 
a manner for some important service to the 
country.” 

And not less natural or less striking was the 
testimony of the Indian chief, who told Wash- 
ington, fifteen years afterward, that, “ at the 
battle of the Monongahela, he had singled him 
out as a conspicuous object, had fired his rifle 
at him many times, and directed his young 
warriors to do the same, but that, to his utter 
astonishment, none of their balls took effect; 
that he was then persuaded that the youthful 
hero was under the special guardianship of 
the Great Spirit, and immediately ceased to 
fire at him; and that he was now come to 
pay homage to the man who was the particu¬ 
lar favorite of Heaven, and who could never 
die in battle.” 

Our revolutionary fathers had many causes 
for adoring the invisible Hand by which they 
were guided and guarded in their great strug¬ 
gle for liberty; but none, none stronger than 
this providential preparation and preservation 
of their destined chief. Be it ours to prolong 
that anthem of gratitude which may no more 
be heard from their mute lips: “The grave 
can not praise thee ; death can not celebrate 
thee ; but the living, the living, they shall 
praise thee, as we do this day!” 

Of the public services of Washington to 
our own country, for which he was thus pre¬ 
pared and preserved, it is enough to say, that 
in the three great epochs of our national his¬ 
tory he stands forth pre-eminent and peerless, 
the master-spirit of the time. 

In the war of the revolution we see him 
the leader of our armies. 

In the formation of the constitution, we see 
him the president of our councils. 

In the organization of the federal govern¬ 
ment, we see him the chief magistrate of our 
republic. 

Indeed, from the memorable day when, un¬ 
der the unheard but by no means inauspicious 
















ORATION BY HON. R. C. WINTHROP. 437 


salute of both British and American batteries, 
engaged in no holyday exercise onBunker hill, 
it was unanimously resolved, that, George 
Washington having been chosen commander- 
in-chief of such forces as are or shall be raised 
for the maintenance and preservation of Amer¬ 
ican liberty, “ This Congress doth now declare 
that they will maintain and assist him, and 
adhere to him, the said George Washington, 
with their lives and fortunes in the same 
cause;” from this ever-memorable 17th of 
June, 1775—a day on which (as has been well 
said*) Providence kept an even balance with 
the cause, and while it took from us a War¬ 
ren gave us a Washington—to the 14th day 
of December, 1799, when he died, we shall 
search the annals of our land in vain for any 
important scene, in which he was anything 
less than the principal figure. 

It is, however, the character of Washing¬ 
ton, and not the mere part which he played, 
which I would hold up this day to the world 
as worthy of endless and universal commem¬ 
oration. The highest official distinctions may 
be enjoyed, and the most important public 
services rendered, by men whose lives will 
not endure examination. It is the glory of 
Washington, that the virtues of the man out¬ 
shone even the brilliancy of his acts, and that 
the results which he accomplished were only 
the legitimate exemplifications of the princi¬ 
ples which he professed and cherished. 

In the whole history of the world it may 
be doubted whether any man can be found, 
who has exerted a more controlling influence 
over men and over events than George Wash¬ 
ington. To what did he owe that influence ? 
How did he win, how did he wield, that 
magic power, that majestic authority, over 
the minds and hearts of his countrymen and 
of mankind ? In what did the power of 
Washington consist ? 

It was not the power of vast learning or 
varied acquirements. He made no preten¬ 
sions to scholarship, and had no opportunity 
for extensive reading. 

It was not the power of sparkling wit or 
glowing rhetoric. Though long associated 
with deliberative bodies, he never made a set 
speech in his life, nor ever mingled in a stormy 
debate. 

It was not the power of personal fascination. 
There was little about him of that gracious 
affability which sometimes lends such resist¬ 
less attraction to men of commanding position. 
His august presence inspired more of awe 
than of affection, and his friends, numerous 
and devoted as they were, were bound to him 
by ties rather of respect than of love. 

It was not the power of a daring and des¬ 
perate spirit of heroic adventure. “If I ever 
* By Edward Everett. 


said so,” replied Washington, when asked 
whether he had said that there was something 
charming in the sound of a whistling bullet; 
“ if I ever said so, it was when I was young.” 
He had no passion for mere exploits. He 
sought no “bubble reputation in the cannon’s 
mouth.” With a courage never questioned, 
and equal to every exigency, he had yet “ a 
wisdom which did guide his valor to act in 
safety.” 

In what, then, did the power of Washing¬ 
ton consist ? When Patrick Henry returned 
home from the first continental Congress, and 
was asked who was the greatest man in that 
body, he replied : “ If you speak of eloquence, 
Mr. Rutledge, of South Carolina, is the great¬ 
est orator; but if you speak of solid informa¬ 
tion and sound judgment, Col. Washington is 
by far the greatest man on that floor.” 

When, fifteen years earlier, Washington, 
at the close of the French war, took his seat 
for the first time in the house of burgesses of 
Virginia, and a vote of thanks was presented 
to him for his military services to the colony, 
his hesitation and embarrassment were re¬ 
lieved by the speaker, who said, “ Sit down, 
Mr. Washington, your modesty equals your 
valor; and that surpasses the power of any 
language that I possess.” 

But it was not solid information, or sound 
judgment, or even that rare combination of 
surpassing modesty and valor, great as these 
qualities are, which gave Washington such 
a hold on the regard, respect, and confidence 
of the American people. I hazard nothing in 
saying that it was the high moral elements 
of his character which imparted to it its pre¬ 
ponderating force. His incorruptible honesty, 
his uncompromising truth, his devout reliance 
on God, the purity of his life, the scrupulous¬ 
ness of his conscience, the disinterestedness 
of his purposes, his humanity, generosity, and 
justice—these were the ingredients which, 
blending harmoniously with solid information 
and sound judgment and a valor only equalled 
by his modesty, made up a character to which 
the world may be fearlessly challenged for a 
parallel. 

“ Labor to keep alive in your breast that 
little spark of celestial fire, conscience ,” was 
one of a series of maxims which Washington 
framed or copied for his own use when a boy. 
His rigid adherence to principle, his steadfast 
discharge of duty, his utter abandonment of 
self, his unreserved devotion to whatever in¬ 
terests were committed to his care, attest the 
more than vestal vigilance with which he ob¬ 
served that maxim. He kept alive that 
spark. He made it shine before men. He 
kindled it into a flame which illumined his 
whole life. No occasion was so momentous, 
no circumstances were so minute, as to ab- 










WASHINGTON NATIONAL MONUMENT. 


t- 

438 


solve him fromfollowingits guiding ray. The 
marginal explanation in his account-book, in 
regard to the expenses of his wife's annual 
visit to the camp during the revolutionary war, 
with his passing allusion to the “ self-denial” 
which the exigencies of his country had cost 
him, furnishes a charming illustration of his 
habitual exactness. The fact that every barrel 
of flour which bore the brand of “ George 
Washington, Mount Vernon,” was exempted 
from the customary inspection in the West 
India ports—that name being regarded as an 
ample guarantee of the quality and quantity 
of any article to which it was affixed—sup¬ 
plies a not less striking proof that his exact¬ 
ness was everywhere understood. 

Everybody saw that Washington sought 
nothing for himself. Everybody knew that he 
sacrificed nothing to personal or to party ends. 
Hence, the mighty influence, the matchless 
sway, which he exercised over all around him. 
“ He was the only man in the United States 
who possessed the confidence of all,” said 
Thomas Jefferson, “there was no other one 
who was considered as anything more than a 
party leader.” 

Who ever thinks of Washington as a mere 
politician ? Who ever associates him with 
the petty arts and pitiful intrigues of partisan 
ofliceseekers or partisan officeholders ? Who 
ever pictures him canvassing for votes, deal¬ 
ing out proscription, or doling out patronage ? 

“ No part of my duty,” wrote Washington 
to Governor Bowdoin, in a letter, the still un¬ 
published original of which is a precious in¬ 
heritance of my own : “ No part of my duty 
will be more delicate, and in many instances 
more unpleasant, than that of nominating and 
appointing persons to office. It will undoubt¬ 
edly happen that there will be several can¬ 
didates for the same office, whose pretensions, 
abilities, and integrity, may be nearly equal, 
and who will come forward so equally sup¬ 
ported in every respect as almost to require 
the aid of supernatural intuition to fix upon 
the right. I shall, however, in all events, 
have the satisfaction to reflect that I entered 
upon my administration unconfined by a single 
engagement, uninfluenced by any ties of blood 
or friendship, and with the best intention and 
fullest determination to nominate to office 
those persons only who, upon every consid¬ 
eration, were the most deserving, and who 
would probably execute their several functions 
to the interest and credit of the American 
Union; if such characters could be found by 
my exploring every avenue of information 
respecting their merits and pretensions that 
it was in my power to obtain.” 

And there was as little of the vulgar hero 
about him, as there was of the mere politician. 
At the head of a victorious army, of which he 


was the idol—an army too often provoked to 
the very verge of mutiny by the neglect of an 
inefficient government—we find him the con¬ 
stant counsellor of subordination and submis¬ 
sion to the civil authority. With the sword 
of a conqueror at his side, we find him the un¬ 
ceasing advocate of peace. Repeatedly in¬ 
vested with more than a power of a Roman 
dictator, we see him receiving that power 
with reluctance, employing it with the utmost 
moderation, and eagerly embracing the earliest 
opportunity to resign it. The offer of a crown 
could not, did not, tempt him for an instant 
from his allegiance to liberty.* He rejected 
it with indignation and abhorrence, and pro¬ 
ceeded to devote all his energies and all his 
influence, all his popularity and all his ability, 
to the establishment of that republican sys¬ 
tem, of which he was from first to last the 
uncompromising advocate, and with the ulti¬ 
mate success of which he believed the best 
interests of America and of the world were 
inseparably connected. 

It is thus that, in contemplating the charac¬ 
ter of Washington, the offices which he held, 
the acts which he performed, his successes as 
a statesman, his triumphs as a soldier, almost 
fade from our sight. It is not the Washing¬ 
ton of the Delaware, or the Brandywine, of 
Germantown, or of Monmouth; it is not 
Washington, the president of the convention, 
or the president of the republic, which we 
admire. We cast our eyes over his life, not 
to be dazzled by the meteoric lustre of partic¬ 
ular passages, but to behold its whole path¬ 
way radiant, radiant everywhere, with the 
true glory of a just, conscientious, consummate 
man! Of him we feel it to be no exaggeration 
to say that 

“ All the ends he aimed at 

Were his Country’s, his God’s, and Truth’s." 

Of him we feel it to be no exaggeration to say, 
that he stands upon the page of history the 
great modern illustration and example of that 
exquisite and Divine precept, which fell from 
the lips of the dying monarch of Israel— 

“ He that ruieth over men must be just, 
ruling in the fear of God ;” 

“ And he shall be as the light of the morn¬ 
ing when the sun riseth, even a morning with¬ 
out clouds!” 

And now, fellow-citizens, it is this incom¬ 
parable and transcendent character, which 
America, on this occasion, holds up afresh to 
the admiration of mankind. Believing it to 
be the only character which could have car¬ 
ried us safely through our own revolutionary 
struggles, we present it, especially, this day, 
to the wistful gaze of convulsed and distract¬ 
ed Europe. May we not hope that there 
may be kindred spirits over the sea, upon 
* Sparks’ Life of Washington, pp. 354-’5. 




















ORATION BY HON. 


whom the example may impress itself, till they 
shall be inflamed with a noble rage to follow 
it 1 Shall we not call upon them to turn from 
a vain reliance upon their own idols, and to 
behold here, in the mingled moderation and 
courage, in the combined piety and patriotism, 
in the blended virtue, principles, wisdom, val¬ 
or, self-denial, and self-devotion of our Wash¬ 
ington, the express image of the man, the only 
man, for their occasion ? 

“ Daphni, quid antiquos signorum suspicis ortus, 
Ecce Dionaei pfocessit Caesaris astrum !” 

Let us rejoice that our call is anticipated. 
Washington is no new name to Europe. His 
star has been seen in every sky, and wise men 
everywhere have done it homage. To what 
other merely human being, indeed, has such 
homage ever before or since been rendered ? 

“ I have a large acquaintance among the 
most valuable and exalted classes of men,” 
wrote Erskine to Washington himself, “but 
you are the only being for whom I ever felt 
an awful reverence.” 

“ Illustrious man !” said Fox of him, in the 
British house of commons in 1794, “deriving 
honor less from the splendor of his situation 
than from the dignity of his mind ; before 
whom all borrowed greatness sinks into in¬ 
significance, and all the potentates of Europe* 
become little and contemptible.” 

“ Washington is dead !” proclaimed Napo¬ 
leon, on hearing of the event. “ This great 
man fought against tyranny; he established 
the liberty of his country. His memory will 
he always dear to the French people, as it 
will be to all free men of the two worlds.” 

“ It will be the duty of the historian and the 
sage in all ages,” says Lord Brougham, “to 
let no occasion pass of commemorating this 
illustrious man; and, until time shall be no 
more, will a test of the progress which our 
race has made in wdsdom and virtue be derived 
from the veneration paid to tlie immortal name 
of Washington.” 

“ One thing is certain,” says Guizot—“one 
thing is certain ; that which Washington did 
—the founding of a free government by order 
and peace, at the close of the revolution— 
no other policy than his could have accom¬ 
plished.” 

And later, better still: “Efface henceforth 
the name of Machiavel,” said Lamartine, 
within a few weeks past, in his reply to the 
Italian association—“ efface henceforth the 
name of Machiavel from your titles of glory, 
and substitute for it the name of Washington; 
that is the one which should now be proclaim¬ 
ed; that is the name of modern liberty. It is 
no longer the name of a politician or a con- 

* It was not thought necessary to disfigure the 
text, by inserting the loyal parenthesis, “ excepting 
the members of our own royal family.” 


R. C. WINTHROP. 439 


queror that is required ; it is that of a man, 
the most disinterested, the most devoted to 
the people. This is the man required by 
liberty. The want of the age is a European 
Washington!” 

And who shall supply that want but he 
who so vividly realizes it ? Enthusiastic, 
eloquent, admirable Lamartine! Though the 
magic wires may even now be trembling with 
the tidings of his downfall, we will not yet 
quite despair of him. Go on in the high 
career to which you have been called ! Fall 
in it, if it must be so; but fall not, falter not, 
from it! Imitate the character you have so 
nobly appreciated! Fulfil the pledges you 
have so gloriously given ! Plead still against 
the banner of blood ! Strive still against the 
reign of terror! Aim still 

“ By winning words to conquer willing hearts, 
And make persuasion do the work of fear!” 

May a gallant and generous people second 
you, and the Power which preserved Wash¬ 
ington sustain you, until you have secured 
peace, order, freedom to your country! 

“ Si qua fata aspera rumpas, 

Tu Marcellus eris.”* 

But, fellow-citizens, wdrile we thus com¬ 
mend the character and example of Washing¬ 
ton to others, let us not forget to imitate it 
ourselves. I have spoken of the precise pe¬ 
riod which we have reached in our own his¬ 
tory, as well as in that of the world at large, 
as giving something of peculiar interest to the 
proceedings in which we are engaged. I 
may not, I will not, disturb the harmony 
of the scene before me by the slightest allu¬ 
sion of a party character. The circumstances 
of the occasion forbid it; the associations of 
the day forbid it ; the character of him in 
whose honor we are assembled, forbids it; my 
own feelings revolt from it. But I may say, 
I must say, and every one within the sound 
of my voice will sustain me in saying, that 
there has been no moment since Washington 
himself was among us, when it was more im¬ 
portant than at this moment that the two great 
leading principles of his policy should be re¬ 
membered and cherished. 

Those principles were, first, the most com¬ 
plete, cordial, and indissoluble union of the 
states ; and, second, the most entire separation 
and disentanglement of our own country from 
all other countries. Perfect union among our¬ 
selves, perfect neutrality toward others, and 
peace, peace, domestic peace, and foreign 
peace, as the result; this was the chosen 
and consummate policy of the Father of his 
country. 

But above all, and before all, in the heart 

* These forebodings were but too soon fulfilled. 
The tidings of Lamartine’s downfall were received 
a few days after this address was delivered. 







WASHINGTON NATIONAL MONUMENT. 


440 


of Washington, was the union of the states; 
and no opportunity was ever omitted by him, 
to impress upon his fellow-citizens the profound 
sense which he entertained, of its vital im¬ 
portance at once to their prosperity and their 
liberty. 

In that incomparable address in which he 
bade farewell to his countrymen at the close 
of his presidential service, he touched upon 
many other topics with the earnestness of a 
sincere conviction. He called upon them in 
’solemn terms, to “cherish public credit;” to 
“observe good faith and justice toward all na¬ 
tions,” avoiding both “inveterate antipathies, 
and passionate attachments” toward any; to 
mitigate and assuage the unquenchable fire 
of party spirit, “lest, instead of warming, it 
should consume ;” to abstain from character¬ 
izing parties by geographical distinctions;” 
“to promote institutions for the general diffu¬ 
sion of knowledge;” to respect and uphold 
“religion and morality; those great pillars 
of human happiness, those firmest props of 
the duties of men and of citizens.” 

But what can exceed, what can equal, the 
accumulated intensity of thought and of ex¬ 
pression with which he calls upon them to 
cling to the union of the states. “ It is of in¬ 
finite moment,” says he, in language which 
we ought never to be weary of hearing or of 
repeating, “that you should properly estimate 
the immense value of vour national union to 
your collective and individual happiness; that 
you should cherish a cordial, habitual, im¬ 
movable attachment to it; accustoming your¬ 
selves to think and speak of it as of the palla¬ 
dium of your political safety and prosperity ; 
watching for its preservation with jealous 
anxiety; discountenancing whatever may sug¬ 
gest even a suspicion that it can, in any event, 
be abandoned; and indignantly frowning upon 
the first dawning of every attempt to alienate 
any portion of our country from the rest, or 
to enfeeble the sacred ties which now link 
together the various parts.” 

The Union, the Union in any event, was 
thus the sentiment of Washington. The 
Union, the Union in any event, let it be our 
sentiment this day ! 

Yes, to-day, fellow-citizens, at the very 
moment when the extension of our boundaries 
and the multiplication of our territories are 
producing, directly, and indirectly, among the 
different members of our political system, so 
many marked and mourned centrifugal ten¬ 
dencies, let us seize this occasion to renew to 
each other our vows of allegiance and devo¬ 
tion to the American union, and let us recog¬ 
nise in our common title to the name and the 
fame of Washington, and in our common 
veneration for his example and his advice, the 
all-suflicient centripetal power, which shall 


hold the thick clustering stars of our confed¬ 
eracy in one glorious constellation for ever! 
Let the column which we are about to con¬ 
struct, be at once a pledge and an emblem of 
perpetual union! Let the foundations be 
laid, let the superstructure be built up and 
cemented, let each stone be raised and riveted, 
in a spirit of national brotherhood! And may 
the earliest ray of the rising sun—till that 
sun shall set to rise no more—draw forth from 
it daily, as from the fabled statue of antiquity, 
a strain of national harmony, which shall 
strike a responsive chord in every heart 
throughout the republic! 

Proceed, then, fellow-citizens, with the 
work for which you have assembled ! Lay 
the corner-stone of a monument which shall 
adequately bespeak the gratitude of the whole 
American people to the illustrious Father of 
his country ! Build it to the skies; you can 
not outreach the loftiness of his principles! 
Found it upon the massive and eternal rock; 
you can not make it more enduring than his 
fame! Construct it of the peerless Parian 
marble; you can not make it purer than his 
life! Exhaust upon it the rules and principles 
of ancient and of modern art; you can not 
make it more proportionate than his character! 

But let not your homage to his memory end 
here. Think not to transfer to a tablet or a 
column, the tribute which is due from your¬ 
selves. Just honor to Washington can only 
be rendered by observing his precepts and 
imitating his example. SimiUtudine decore- 
mus . He has built his own monument. We, 
and those who come after us in successive 
generations, are its appointed, its privileged 
guardians. This wide-spread republic is the 
true monument to Washington. Maintain its 
independence. Uphold its constitution. Pre¬ 
serve its union. Defend its liberty. Let it 
stand before the world in all its original 
strength and beauty, securing peace, order, 
equality, and freedom to all within its bound¬ 
aries, and shedding light, and hope, and joy, 
upon the pathway of human liberty through¬ 
out the world; and Washington needs no oth¬ 
er monument. Other structures may fitly tes¬ 
tify our veneration for him; this, this alone, can 
adequately illustrate his services to mankind. 

Nor does he need even this. The republic 
may perish; the wide arch of our ranged 
union may fall; star by star its glories may 
expire; stone after stone its columns and its 
capitol may moulder and crumble; all other 
names which adorn its annals may be forgot¬ 
ten ; but as long as human hearts shall any¬ 
where pant, or human tongues shall anywhere 
plead, for a true, rational, constitutional lib¬ 
erty, those hearts shall enshrine the memory, 
and those tongues shall prolong the fame, of 
George Washington! 








VISITATIONS OF PESTILENCE. 


441 


VISITATIONS OF PESTILENCE. 

Since the Christian era there have been 
recorded twenty extensive European pestilen¬ 
ces, besides others whose devastation was 
more local. In the year 265, a pestilence burst 
on the Roman empire, then comprehending 
the civilized world. It continued for fifteen 
years, and “raged without interruption in ev¬ 
ery province, in every city, and almost every 
family of the empire. During some time five 
thousand persons died daily in Rome.” 

A reference to the registers of Alexandria 
shows that “above half the population of that 
city has perished; and, could we venture to 
extend the analogy to the other provinces, we 
might suspect that war, pestilence, and fam¬ 
ine, had consumed in a few years, the moiety 
of the human species.” 

In the middle of the sixth century, Con¬ 
stantinople, then the capital of the world, was 
startled by the approach of the plague. From 
the terror of the time, it is difficult to discover 
its origin : but it was supposed to have come 
from Egypt. Its mortality was indescribable. 
“ During three months, five, and at length ten 
thousand persons died each day in Constan¬ 
tinople. Many cities of the east were left 
vacant; and in the several districts of Italy 
the harvest and the vintage perished on the 
ground.” 

“ The disease pursued a double path; it 
spread to the east, over Syria, Persia, and the 
Indies ; and penetrated to the east, along the 
coast of Africa, and over the continent of Eu¬ 
rope.” This pestilence was of such peculiar 
malignity that it was not abated by the change 
of the season. In time it vanished, but re¬ 
vived ; and “ it was not till the end of the 
calamitous period of fifty-two years that man¬ 
kind recovered their health, or the air recov¬ 
ered its salubrious quality.” 

“The triple scourge of war, pestilence, and 
famine, afflicted the subjects of Justinian; 
and his reign is disgraced by a visible decrease 
of the human species, which has never been 
repaired in some of the fairest countries of the 
globe.” 

Another most memorable pestilence was 
brought by the commerce of the Levant to 
Europe, in the middle of the fourteenth cen¬ 
tury. In the imperfect narratives of those 
days of universal distress, the place of the 
origin, and the degree of the havoc in the 
east, remain unknown. But its first mortal¬ 
ity in Europe was felt along the borders of 
the Mediterranean. From those, slowly but 
with irresistible progress, and boundless waste 
of life, it ascended toward Germany, and con¬ 
tinued advancing to the north, until it ceased 
through want of victims. From its first ap¬ 
pearance in the Levant to its close, it ravaged 


Europe for nearly three years. It was cal¬ 
culated to have destroyed a third part of the 
whole population. 

In those general devastations, London fre¬ 
quently suffered. But the plague of 1665 
has made the deepest impression on the na¬ 
tional memory. Though scarcely passing 
beyond the limits of the capital (then, per¬ 
haps, not a third of its present size), its mor¬ 
tality was vast and almost exterminating. A 
large part of the population had fled into the 
country: yet, from the beginning of June to 
the end of the year, the deaths exclusively by 
the plague, were calculated at sixty-eight 
thousand. 

A large portion of this mortality might 
probably have been prevented by due precau¬ 
tion and the early employment of medical 
science. The closeness of the streets, the 
crowding of the people, and the habitual dis¬ 
regard of ventilation, must have fostered this 
dreadful disease. But they can not account 
for its origin, for its direction, or for its viru¬ 
lence. These were independent of man. 

It has been remarked as extraordinary, that 
the Mosaic law, which contains so many reg¬ 
ulations on the prevention and treatment of 
disease, should have made no provision against 
the plague. And the twofold reason has been 
assigned that the ravages of the disease were 
so rapid as to make all precaution useless; 
and that human sagacity must be the best 
guide in a disease, whose coming depended 
on such a variety of circumstances. 

The more probable reason appears to me, 
its being regarded as a direct weapon of divine 
judgment; against whose power the law' of 
course would offer no means of contending. 
We observe that Moses spoke of it as the 
direct equivalent to slaughter: “Lest he 
smite us with pestilence and the sword.” The 
divine displeasure, on the numbering of the 
people by David, was expressed by giving him 
his choice of three punishments—seven years’ 
famine, three months’ flight before an invader, 
or three days of pestilence. It conveys an in¬ 
tense conception of the horrors of pestilence, 
that even the word of inspiration should re¬ 
gard its three days to be equal to three months 
of slaughter by the rage of man, or even seven 
years of famine; both the deepest trials of 
mere national endurance. The king chose 
pestilence, as being the most rapid and ex¬ 
clusive action of the divine wrath. 

And David said : “ Let us fall now into the 
hand of the Lord—“ So the Lord sent a 
pestilence upon Israel, from the morning even 
to the time appointed; and there died of the 
people, even from Dan to Beer-sheba, sev¬ 
enty thousand men.” 2 Sam. xxiv. 15. 

Another remarkable circumstance is, that 
no plague ever appeared to have produced a 






442 THE SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTE.—EARLY PLEASURES. 


moral reform. Instead of the natural awe of 
Heaven, it seems to have been signalized by 
the wildest excess—by the fiercer crimes and 
more reckless carousals of despair. Rebel¬ 
lion, murder, and the frantic indulgence of 
every passion and appetite, have in general 
characterized the progress of the mortality. 
Thucydides dates the especial profligacy of 
Athens from the era of the plague. “Let 
us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die”—is 
the strong expression used by Isaiah to repre¬ 
sent the last mad festivity of a city about to 
be stormed, and despairing of resistance ; the 
words used by St. Paul, to express the con¬ 
dition of man hopeless of immortality, were 
evidently the popular impulse to the majority 
of instances; perhaps in all. The plague 
was simply a divine punishment, the scourge, 
and not the teacher. 


THE SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTE. 

The engraving of this new edifice will con¬ 
vey a better idea of its architecture than any 
description we can give. It is built in 
the style that prevailed in southern Europe 
during the twelfth century—the Norman or 
Lombard style, which was succeeded by the 
Gothic. When completed, it will consist of 
a centre which will be fifty by two hundred 
feet inside, with two connecting ranges sixty 
feet in length in the clear, and averaging 
forty-seven feet in breadth. An east wing 
forty-five by seventy-five feet in the clear, 
with a vestibule and porch attached, and a 
west wing thirty-four by sixty-five feet in the 
clear, exclusive of the spires or semi-circular 
projections. 

There will be two central front towers on 
the north, one central rear tower on the south, 
besides a bell tower, a large octagonal and 
two smaller towers at the different angles of 
the building, with porches, vestibules, stair- 
halls, &c., attached to the centre. The east 
wing, or chymical lecture-room, will have a 
bell-tower, and the west wing a campanile 
tower and apsis connected with it. The cen¬ 
tral building will contain in the first story the 
library, ninety by fifty feet, and the principal 
lecture-room, to hold from eight hundred to 
one thousand persons. The second story will 
contain the museum, two hundred by fifty 
feet. The west wring will contain the gallery 
of art, sixty-five feet long; the east wing, the 
chymical lecture-room, forty-five by seventy- 
five feet, and laboratory. 

The extreme length of the building will be 
about four hundred and fifty feet, with a 
breadth in the centre of over one hundred feet. 


The centre building rises sixty feet, and with 
its principal tower one hundred and fifty feet; 
the wings from thirty to forty feet high, and 
their towers of various heights, from eighty to 
one hundred feet. 

Connected with the gallery of art, there 
will be studios , in which young artists may 
copy without interruption. The library will 
contain, at least, one hundred thousand vol¬ 
umes, and will embrace many valuable works, 
not to be found elsewhere in the United States. 
The eastern wing wrill first be finished and put 
in order for the occupation of the secretary, 
and for the immediate purpose of the board. 
The institution will probably be able to com¬ 
mence operations some time next winter, when 
courses of lectures wrill be delivered by some 
of the most able lecturers in the country. 

The committee of the Smithsonian Insti¬ 
tute have in course of preparation, as their 
first elaborate production, a treatise entitled, 
“Hints on Public Architecture,” to contain 
views of the principal public buildings in the 
country, together with a large amount of 
practical information. A valuable work on 
the “ Indian Mounds” of this country has also 
been adopted by the institute, and will soon 
be brought out. 


EARLY PLEASURES. 

“ But why the morning of this busy scene, 

More sweet than all succeeding life has been ? 
From the mild influence of its real cause, 

No fancied bliss its brief existence draws. 

Those paths, so fertile, wear no trace of care: 
The present pleased, the morrow, too, was fair; 
Some secret movement cheered the troubled hour, 
And lovelier sunshine followed every shower.” 

Early pleasures! Why the very expres¬ 
sion is beautiful, most beautiful; teeming 
with thoughts and recollections which are 
animated and delightful, and awakening spon¬ 
taneously a train of associations, the most vivid 
in their character, and the most inspiring in 
the effect produced. In such a world as ours, 
where, as we advance in life, we realize so 
many anxieties, have to pass through so many 
changes, and to encounter so many storms, 
where is the individual possessed of any sen¬ 
sibility, cherishing any appropriate thought 
and emotion, who does not recur, with pow¬ 
erful and enkindling feeling, to early pleas¬ 
ures? to that sunny and delightsome period 
when the mind was vivacity itself; when the 
spirits were nothing but buoyancy ; when the 
whole nature was not only prepared for enjoy¬ 
ment, but was full of it. Every object was 
novel in its aspect; every scene appeared to 
be clothed with radiance and beauty. The 















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































EARLY PLEASURES. 


444 


sky which arched over us was not only fair, 
but without a cloud; and loveliness of the 
purest order was visible in every direction. 

How much do we see in the kindness of 
God in attuning the mind to early pleasures; 
in communicating a disposition to receive grat¬ 
ification, and gratification of the highest kind, 
from a thousand sources, which, in succeeding 
life, would, perhaps, not awaken the same 
enjoyment at all—at any rate, not to the same 
extent. Thus it is that we see the goodness 
of our heavenly Father—the endearing kind¬ 
ness of that Providevce which is ever ready 
to bless us, and to render us truly happy. 
Thus it is that the ruggedness of the road in 
early life is diminished, or slightly felt; and 
those elevations which we have to ascend are 
reached, not only without difficulty, but with 
emotions of pleasure. 

If in early life everything wore an aspect 
of gloom; if at that interesting and important 
period depressing and painful emotions were 
awakened, and there was little or no capacity 
for enjoyment, how different would be our 
condition in the initiatory stages of existence! 
How dull, how sombre, how clouded every¬ 
thing would appear! As we advanced in 
years, how dissimilar would be our feelings, 
and the habits of our minds—indeed, our en¬ 
tire character—from those sentiments which 
we have been accustomed to cherish! There¬ 
fore, let us express lively gratitude to a kind 
and gracious God, that he has rendered us 
peculiarly susceptible of early pleasures, which 
are pure, healthful, and most beneficial, and 
communicated to us so many, during the spring 
and the may-bloom of our existence. 

Our early pleasures, with those of thou¬ 
sands, have been derived from rural scenes ; 
from rural sights and sounds; from familiarity 
with the objects of creation ; from rambles— 
quiet, long and habitual rambles—amid the 
beauty and luxuriance of nature. How have 
we traversed the fine meadows of our lovely 
country, especially during early spring! How 
have we admired their rich verdure, and trod¬ 
den, with exquisite and ever-fresh delight, on 
their soft carpet, in “ the leafy month of 
June !” How have we plucked “ the meek¬ 
eyed daisy,” and the golden butter-cup, with 
which they have been enamelled! With 
what eagerness have we gone out into the 
beautiful lanes and dells in April, to gather 
“ the pale primrose,” and to hunt after the 
fragrant violet, and to bring home, with de¬ 
light, a hand well filled to adorn our mantle- 
piece. In early May, how have we repaired 
to the well-known place for cowslips, and what 
a burst of joy has been induced, when hundreds 
and thousands of them, fully blown, on some 
extensive field, were first descried! What 
a treasure was the first nosegay of cowslips ! 


How have we plunged into the thick and 
umbrageous wood, or the more extended for¬ 
est, fearless of danger, and finding something 
as we advanced, step by step, to awaken our 
astonishment and admiration! How have we 
ranged some beautifully ornamented park, and 
deeply felt the loveliness expanding around ! 
How have we delighted ourselves in our own 
garden, or in that of some dear friend, and re¬ 
joiced either in the promise of rich fruit, or 
in the ripe and luxuriant clusters which we 
have seen on every side ! How difficult to 
repress our wonder and our joy. 

How have we ascended the lofty hill, and 
surveyed the wide expanse of nature, stretch¬ 
ing to an almost immeasurable distance, be¬ 
fore and behind, and, indeed, all around, while 
beauty and grandeur, variety and harmony, 
have been delightfully blended ! How have 
we traced the meandering river’s course, or 
walked, half-knee high, in the shallow stream; 
or hunted after the tiny fish which were swim¬ 
ming so happily in the little pellucid brook, 
while the sunbeams have been playing so 
brightly on it! 

How have we gone down to the seaside, 
and roamed, for hours, on the sandy or pebbly 
beach, seeking after shells and curious sea¬ 
weeds, and wondering at the breakers, as 
they came successively dashing to the shore ! 
These, and a thousand circumstances in con¬ 
nexion with nature, have riveted our atten¬ 
tion, inspired our interest, and enchained our 
minds, in early life. These have been, and 
still continue to be, some of our purest, sweet¬ 
est, and most unsating pleasures, and, the 
best of all is, they are pleasures which can 
always , to a great extent, if the mind be in a 
proper frame, be realized. How full of elo¬ 
quence and beauty are the lines of our favorite 
Beattie:—• 

“ How canst thou renounce the boundless store 

Of charms, which Nature to her votary yields— 
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, 

The pomp of ip-oves, the garniture of fields, 

All that the genial ray of morning gilds, 

And all that echoes to the song of even, 

All that the mountain’s sheltering bosom shields, 
And all the dread magnificence of heaven, 

O how canst thou renounce and hope to be forgiven?” 

Our early pleasures, with those of multi¬ 
tudes, have been derived from reading _ 

varied, appropriate, instructive reading. And 
what art is more valuable to acquire? What 
taste is more desirable to form ? What habit 
is more important to cultivate ? What treas¬ 
ures does the perusal of interesting and sterl¬ 
ing books, attentively and carefully gone 
through, put into our possession! What views 
dp books open! What counsels do they fur¬ 
nish! What narrations do they detail! What 
principles do they inculcate ! Wdiat incen- 







EARLY PLEASURES. 


tives to all that is noble and virtuous, benevo¬ 
lent and holy, do they communicate ! Some 
of the purest and richest of our early pleas¬ 
ures, with that of millions (and the number is 
increasing indefinitely), have been gained 
from reading. The mind has been riveted, 
and all its faculties enchained. How often 
has evening after evening been delightfully 
spent in perusing some spirit-fixing volume, 
which has been new to the youthful mind, 
and, by its delineations of character, its nar¬ 
ration of incident and adventure, or its pow¬ 
erful appeal, has produced deep and long- 
remembered impressions. Never can we for¬ 
get how w e first devoured “Robinson Crusoe,” 
and were awe-struck by its more solemn and 
awakening scenes, or were charmed with its 
more animated and joyous narrations. What 
a world opened on us when this book was 
first read! 

How can we fail to remember the eagerness 
with which we perused, for the first time, 
the far-famed “ Pilgrim’s Progress !”—that 
precious volume, with its vivid and life-like 
sketches, with its gallery of moral and re¬ 
ligious paintings, the figures almost appearing 
to be moving and walking before us—with its 
affectionate and impressive exhortations— 
with its original and powerful admonitions, 
and all in perfect harmony with the word of 
God; this gem of books, with all it contains, 
is ever present with us. 

John Bunyan’s “Holy War,” when we first 
perused it, awakened the deepest emotions, 
and, to this hour, its earliest perusal is remem¬ 
bered as being among our choicest pleasures. 

The “ Life of Henry Kirke White” was a 
favorite little volume; and, after its first read¬ 
ing, we took so deep an interest in the char¬ 
acter, the struggles, the poetry, and the letters 
of poor Henry, that we were obliged to put 
the touching book of Southey under our pil¬ 
low, and read it, again and again, as soon as 
we awoke. 

Rowland Hill’s “ Village Dialogues” con¬ 
stituted a volume to which, in our youth, we 
recurred with profound and growing interest; 
and, when it was perused for the first time, 
how did we turn again and again to honest 
Thomas Newman—to that beautiful delinea¬ 
tion of a gospel minister, the Rev. Mr. Love- 
good—to the character and death of Mr. Mer- 
ryman—to honest Farmer Littleworth and 
his son Ilenry—to Squire Worthy—to Madam 
Toogood and Mr. Slapdash—and, so long as 
we live, we can not forget the ignorance, big¬ 
otry, unlovely and unchristian spirit, of that 
mock-minister, Parson Doolittle. We never 
think of Rowland Hill, with all his eccentrici¬ 
ties, and, moreover, with all the fine features, 
both of his mind and character, without bles¬ 
sing his memory for that choice volume of 


445 


Dialogues, so full of character, of pathos, of 
sage and acute remark, to which we now al¬ 
lude, and which we place always near Bun- 
yan's “Pilgrim.” 

Our early pleasures have been derived from 
our home. These enjoyments, with millions 
of the most virtuous and estimable of the hu¬ 
man family, have ever been among their 
choicest. None are so refined, so pure, so 
tranquillizing, so steady and permanent. Well 
do we remember the comforts of the endeared 
domestic circle—all the members of that cir¬ 
cle collected—not one absent; the tranquil 
fireside; the little snug parlor, where we have 
often read and enjoyed our favorite volumes; 
the delightful evenings in autumn ; and, es¬ 
pecially, in winter, when, the curtains being 
drawn, the tea having been removed, the fire 
brightly blazing, one would peruse aloud some 
interesting and captivating book, while the 
other members of the family would attentive¬ 
ly listen, as they pursued their work, and the 
more juvenile ones would be all interest and 
pleasure. What cheerful and happy even¬ 
ings have been thus spent! Evenings whose 
associations will always remain with us, and 
awaken emotions of pensiveness, yet of devout 
gratitude and joy. 

u Oft in our peaceful home, that sheltered nest. 
Where still our best affections love to rest, 

And memory guards her treasures to the last. 

Or dwells, with pensive joy, on pleasures past. 
The conscious mind, assisted by her power, 

The treasured sweets of every passing hour 
Can bring again to second life, and view 
Their joys as pleasing as when first they flew.” 

Our early pleasures have been derived from 
some interesting youthful companions , those 
of kindred tastes and sentiments; those who 
have thought with us, felt with us, sported 
with us, labored with us. What conversa¬ 
tions have we enjoyed with them! What 
rambles have we taken with them ! What 
extended and happy walks in the wide field 
of nature ! As they grew up, our attachment 
to them increased, and theirs to us augmented. 
We were rarely a day apart. But where 
are they now ? What changes have been 
accomplished ! What severances effected ! 
How many of them have departed to eternity, 
and have been laid in an early grave! Shall 
we meet them in heaven ? 

Our early pleasures have been derived from 
the sanctuary; yes, our richest, our sweetest, 
our highest. We longed for the sabbath, 
when we might repair to the sanctuary—ob¬ 
serve the delightful exercises of the sanctuary 
—partake of the tranquil and enviable enjoy¬ 
ments of the sanctuary. Our walk to the 
sanctuary was one of the most pleasing. How 
was that walk anticipated ; and when, on the 
sabbath morning, we entered the building 








THE BURYING BEETLE. 


446 


where we were wont to worship, what emo¬ 
tions, of the most grateful kind, pervaded our 
hearts ! How we rejoiced to see our beloved 
pastor enter his pulpit! With what zest we 
celebrated the praises of God ! How it de¬ 
lighted us to hear the songs of Zion sweetly 
sung ! How it gladdened the spirit to listen 
to the burst of praise, after a glowing and 
beautiful sermon, full of the pure gospel of 
Christ! How we returned home, longing 
for the sabbath to come again, and almost 
wishing that every day could be transformed 
into a sabbath-day! 

These have been among our early pleas¬ 
ures ; dear readers, have they been among 
yours ? We hope so. If they have been, do 
you not feel how pure they have been f how 
rich they have been; how full of zest they 
have been; with what bloom and beauty they 
have been clothed ; and what an impression 
they have produced ? 

Early pleasures should be recurred to. 
The mind should accustom itself to dwell on 
them. Memory should love to linger around 
them. If the recollection be appropriately 
indulged, lively gratitude will be awakened ; 
pleasing and powerful emotions will be in¬ 
spired. We shall find present happiness in¬ 
creased, and moral and religious influences 
augmented. 

And let us not, as we advance in life, re¬ 
gret, unduly and unwisely regret, that the 
vivacity of our early pleasures has passed 
away; but let us cherish unaffected gratitude 
for all the enjoyments, so rich, so varied, and 
so vivacious, which we have realized; and 
let us cultivate and improve the numerous 
pleasures, refined and tranquillizing in their 
nature, with which a kind Providence is still 
favoring us. Like the bee, let us extract 
honey from every odorous flower. Let us 
remember that pleasures, of the richest and 
purest kind, may be gained from almost in¬ 
numerable sources; and let us be looking for¬ 
ward to the purer, the higher, the more ex¬ 
quisite, and the endless pleasures of paradise. 

We would remark, in concluding these ob¬ 
servations : parents, be wise, in relation to 
your offspring; endeavor, in early life, to make 
your children happy. See that they are sur¬ 
rounded by what is calculated to ren'der them 
cheerful and animated. Let them perceive 
that you are solicitous to promote their enjoy¬ 
ment in everything that is healthful and pure. 
Let not your children be made gloomy. Take 
every weight from the mind of a child. Do 
not envelop your children with a dark and 
sombre atmosphere. Mothers, walk out with 
your offspring, and show them what is beau¬ 
tiful and grand in nature. Let them see that 
you are happy, if they are happy. Fathers, 
let your children accompany you in your 


rambles, and explain to them that what you 
see and admire is worthy of their attention. 
Answer their intelligent and numerous, though 
sometimes most amusing questions. Talk to 
them about the wonders of the heavens, the 
beauty of the earth, the grandeur and extent 
of the ocean; the wisdom, power, and good¬ 
ness of God in all. Accustom them to read 
and think on these subjects. Cherish early 
friendships of the right kind ; and, above all, 
let your children go with you to the house 
of God, that early habits of worship may be 
formed, and that, by the divine blessing, an 
early spirit of devotion may be cultivated. 

Blissful, indeed, is the thought of a whole 
family meeting in heaven! Husband and 
wife, brethren and sisters, all before the throne 
of the Redeemer at last! one by one parting 
in love, in the prospect of a rapturous and un¬ 
broken meeting in paradise. 

“ Such tender chains connect the mind with earth. 
Till mercy kindly terminates the span 
That bounds the present littleness of man ; 

And, like the gale to frozen waters given, 
Dissolves each link, and wafts the soul to heaven.” 


THE BURYING BEETLE. 

A foreign naturalist gives a very interest¬ 
ing account of the industry of this insect. He 
had often remarked that dead moles, -when laid 
upon the ground, especially upon loose earth, 
were sure to disappear in the course of two 
or three days—often in twelve hours. To 
ascertain the cause, he placed a mole upon one 
of the beds of his garden. It had disappeared 
on the third morning; and on digging where 
it had been laid, he found it buried to the 
depth of three inches, and under it four beetles, 
which seemed to have been the agents in this 
singular burial. Not perceiving anything 
particular in the mole, he buried it again; 
and on examining it at the end of six days, he 
found it swarming with maggots, apparently 
the issue of the beetles, which Mr. Gleditsch 
now naturally concluded had buried the car¬ 
case for the food of their young. To deter¬ 
mine these points more clearly, he put four 
of these insects into a glass vessel, half filled 
with earth and properly secured, and upon 
the surface of the earth, two frogs. In less 
than twelve hours one of the frogs was buried 
by two of the beetles; the other two ran about 
the whole day, as if busied in measuring the % 
size of the remaining frog, which on the "third :* 
day was also found buried. He then intro-- 
duced a dead linnet. A pair of beetles were 
soon engaged upon the bird. They began 
their operations by pushing out the earth from 
under the body, so as to form a hole for its 










PITTSBURG. 


447 


reception; anti it was curious to see the efforts 
which the beetles made, by dragging at the 
feathers of the bird from below, to pull it into 
its grave. The male having driven the female 
away, continued the work alone for five hours. 
He lifted up the bird, changed its place, turn¬ 
ed it and arranged it in the grave, and from 
time to time came out of the hole, mounted 
upon it, and trode it under foot, and then re¬ 
tired below and pulled it down. At length, 
apparently wearied with this uninterrupted 
labor, it came forth and leaned its head upon 
the earth beside the bird, without the smallest 
motion, as if to rest itself, for a full hour, when 
it again crept under the earth. The next day, 
in the morning, the bird was an inch and a 
half under the ground, and the trench remain¬ 
ed open the whole day, the corpse seeming 
as if laid out upon a bier, surrounded with a 
rampart of mould. 

In the evening it had sunk half an inch 
lower, and in another day the work was com¬ 
pleted, and the bird covered. M. Gleditsch 
continued to add other small dead animals, 
which were all sooner or later buried; and 
the result of his experiment was, that in fifty 
days four beetles had interred, in the very 
small space of earth allotted to them, twelve 
carcasses ; vis., four frogs, three small birds, 
two fishes, one mole, and two grasshoppers, 
besides the entrails of a fish, and two morsels 
of the lungs of an ox. In another experiment, 
a single beetle buried a mole forty times its 
own bulk and weight in two days. 


PITTSBURG. 

Pittsburg, the capital of Allegany coun¬ 
ty, Pennsylvania, distinguished as the great 
manufacturing city of the west, is situated on 
a triangular point at the junction of the 
Allegany and Monongaliela, in latitude north 
40 degrees, 26 minutes, 25 seconds, and 
longitude west from Greenwich 79 degrees 
59 minutes. It is three hundred miles west 
from Philadelphia, one hundred and twenty 
south of Lake Erie, one thousand and one 
hundred by land, and two thousand and twen¬ 
ty-nine by water, above New Orleans. The 
Allegany comes down with a strong current 
from the northeast, and sweeping suddenly 
round to the northwest, receives the more 
gentle current of the Monongahela from the 
south—their combined waters flowing on to 
the Mississippi under the name of the Ohio, 
or beautiful river. The aborigines and the 
French considered the Allegany and Ohio to 
be the same stream, and the Monongahela to 
be a tributary —Allegany being a word in the 


Delaware language, and O-hee-o in the Sen¬ 
eca, both meaning fair water . Hence the 
French term Belle Riviere , was only a trans¬ 
lation of the Indian name. 

The alluvial bottom on which the city is 
built is quite limited ; for immediately back 
of it, and at less than a mile from the point, 
rises Grant’s hill (on which the courthouse 
stands), with Ayres’ hill on the west, and 
Quarry hill on the east of Grant’s. At the 
foot of these hills there extends up the Alle¬ 
gany a strip of alluvial land about a quarter 
of a mile wide, on which the suburb Bayards- 
town is built; and on the Monongahela side 
a still narrower margin. The city is rapidly 
pushing its eastern limits on to the sides and 
summits of these hills. Grant’s hill is already 
occupied. Opposite to Pittsburg, on a beau¬ 
tiful plain on the north bank of the Allegany, 
is the large city of Allegany ; below it a 
mile or two is the more rural village of Man¬ 
chester; while on the other side of Pitts¬ 
burg, across the Monongahela, the smoky 
street of Sligo, with its noisy manufactories, 
is nestled under the high precipice of Coal 
hill; and about two miles above Sligo, where 
the alluvial bottom spreads out wider, lies the 
large manufacturing town of Birmingham. 
All these villages may be considered as be¬ 
longing to and forming part of one great man¬ 
ufacturing and commercial city. 

A board of inquiry visited Pittsburg, in 
1841, for the purpose of selecting a site for 
the United States Marine hospital. The 
editor of the Wheeling Times, in speaking 
of this visit, and the prospect from the hills, 
environing the city, says :— 

“ This board found Pittsburg a much larger 
place than Wheeling ; they found it a thriving 
place, with numerous engines, furnaces, and 
machinery; they found it with a rich and 
industrious population—a people that would 
work, and would therefore prosper—at the 
same time they found them an hospitable, 
gentlemanly class of beings, possessed of in¬ 
telligence and willing to impart it. They 
doubtless took an early excursion upon the 
hills that environ the city. They looked 
down, and a sea of smoke lay like the clouds 
upon Chimborazo’s base. No breath of air 
moved its surface; but a sound rose from its 
depths dike the roar of Niagara’s waters, or 
the warring of the spirits in the cavern of 
storms. They looked around them, and saw 
no signs of life or human habitation. They 
looked above them, and the summer sun, like 
a haughty warrior, was driving his coursers 
up the eastern sky. Then from the sea of 
smoke a vapor rose—another and another cloud 
rode away, and a speck of silvery sheen 
glittered in the sunbeams. 

“ Again, a spire came into view, pointing 


! 











PITTSBURG. 


448 * 


heavenward its long slim finger; then a roof 
—a house-top—a street; and lo ! a city lay 
like a map spread out by magic hand, and 
ten thousand busy mortals were seen in the 
pursuit of wealth, of fame, of love, of fashion. 
On the left, a noble river came heaving on¬ 
ward from the wilderness of the north, bear¬ 
ing on its bosom the treasures of the forest. 
On the right, an unassuming, but not less 
useful current, quietly yielded to the vessel’s 
prow that bore from a more genial soil the 
products of the earth. They looked again, 
and extending downward through fertile and 
cultivated vales, checkered with gently swel¬ 
ling hills, they saw the giant trunk formed 
by the union of these noble branches. Ruf¬ 
fling its mirrowed surface, they saw the noble 
steamer leaping like the panting courser, 
bearing a rich burden from the far sunny 
south; another, gathering strength and rolling 
onward to commerce its long journey past 
fertile fields, high hills, rich and flourishing 
cities, and forests wide and drear, bearing 
the handiwork of her artisans to Mississippi, 
Texas, Mexico, the groves of India, and 
the hills of Pernambuco—nay, to every land 
to which the sun in its daily course gives light. 
Such they saw Pittsburg; and as such, as a 
citizen of the west, we are proud of her.” 

With the villages on the left bank of the 
Monongahela, Pittsburg is connected by the 
Monongahela bridge, one thousand and five 
hundred feet in length, having eight arches 
resting on stone piers. This bridge was 
erected in 1818, at a cost of $102,450. Over 
the Allegany there are no less than four bridges 
crossing to the Allegany city, besides the 
splendid aqueduct of the Pennsylvania canal. 
The first of these bridges was erected in 1819 
at the expense of $95,250. It is one thou¬ 
sand one hundred and twenty-two feet in 
length, resting on six piers of stone, and is 
elevated thirty-eight feet above low water. 

There are in Pittsburg and its environs, 
within convenient walking distance, seven¬ 
teen presbyterian churches, three Cumberland 
presbyterian, twelve methodist episcopal, 
three protestant methodist, four baptist, four 
| Roman catholic, five episcopal, two associate, 

) four associate reformed, two evangelical Lu- 
; theran, two congregational, two disciples’ 
churches, one “ church of God,” one Unitarian, 

| one German evangelical protestant, one Ger¬ 
man reformed, three Welsh, and four African 
churches of different denominations. 

The population of Pittsburg, in 1786, was 
' by estimate about five hundred ; in 1796, ac- 
| cording to the assessor’s lists, one thousand 
three hundred and ninety-five ; in 1810, about 
five thousand; in 1820, seven thousand two 
! hundred and forty-eight; in 1830, including 
Allegany and the suburbs, twenty-one thou¬ 


sand nine hundred and twelve ; and in 1840, 
including the same, thirty-eight thousand, 
nine hundred and thirty-one. 

Pittsburg owes its pre-eminence to the 
fortunate combination of several advantages. 
It is, with slight exceptions, at the head of 
steamboat navigation ; it is also the termina¬ 
ting point of the main line of internal im¬ 
provements. It is the mart of portions of 
Virginia and New York, as well as of west¬ 
ern Pennsylvania; while the Ohio opens to 
the enterprise of its citizens the whole of the 
Mississippi valley. The exhaustless banks 
of coal in the neighboring hills, and the ex¬ 
cellent mines of iron ore found in great abun¬ 
dance in the countries along the mountains and 
on the banks of the Ohio below, together with 
the vast forests of pine timber on the head¬ 
waters of the Allegany river, give to this city 
its pre-eminence over all others in the west 
for manufacturing purposes. 

To enumerate the various manufacturing 
establishments of this great workshop, does 
not fall within the scope of this article. The 
principal articles of manufacture are steam¬ 
boats, steam-engines, and a great variety of 
machinery, of both iron and wood; bar-iron, 
nails, ploughs, and agricultural implements ; 
glass, cotton-cloths, leather, and saddlery; 
flooring-boards; with a great number of arti¬ 
cles of which the manufacture is prosecuted 
on a smaller scale. The steam power exerted 
in these various departments is immense; 
probably greater in proportion to the popula¬ 
tion, than any other city in the Union. To 
strangers the manufactories are well worth a 
visit, especially those of glass, nails, bar and 
rolled iron. 

There is much moral power in this city ; 
many men of talents in the learned professions, 
whose light shines throughout the great val¬ 
ley of the west; many benevolent societies 
and institutions of learning. 


Misfortune. —The morning of life is the 
season in which, though we struggle with, 
we may hope to overcome adversity. Despair 
seldom visits the smooth forehead, or sits upon 
the yet unwrinkled skin : but that misfortune 
is chiefly to be dreaded which, lurking unob¬ 
served in the flowery paths of youth, or per¬ 
haps fleeing far from them, forbears its malice 
until the voice of spring is heard no more— 
until the sinewy summer of life has passed 
away—until pale and shivering autumn has 
come—aud then, when the bright prospect 
is already dimmed, and the best hopes of 
existence destroyed, strikes with a serpent’s 
fang, and rejoices not in its individual strength, 
but over our own unstruggling and miserable 
submission. 










View of Pittsburg from the northwest 








































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































450 MERCANTILE BIOGRAPHY. 


MERCANTILE BIOGRAPHY. 

In presenting to our readers the present 
article, embracing biographical notices of mer¬ 
chants who have been eminently distinguished 
for the energy manifested in the pursuit of 
their various vocations—from the most hum¬ 
ble beginnings to the proudest results of hu¬ 
man industry—for their public and private 
virtues, and the influences which they have 
exerted on the domestic, moral, and political, 
and intellectual condition of mankind, we 
would offer a few prefatory remarks. 

It has been said, and with truth, that neither 
the past nor present age has presented a single 
life from which, if a faithful narrative were 
written, some valuable information might not 
be drawn. If such an assertion be tenable, 
when applied to the recorded actions in the 
great mass of society, charged with its follies 
and crimes, how much more forcibly must it 
apply to the biography, which selects and 
holds up as mirrors to the w r orld those only 
whose wisdom and virtue are calculated to ! 
make a lasting and beneficial impression; 
which, while it consecrates the ashes of the 
dead, rescues from the destructive influence 
of time all that is worthy of remembrance— 
presents us with the living characteristics of 
the man as he stood before a scrutinizing 
earthly tribunal—enables us to follow him 
from the dawn of intellect to the termination 
of an active, well-spent life—to see him tri¬ 
umphing over every obstacle which poverty 
or misfortune presented to his indomitable 
mental and physical energies—and finally, to 
appropriate to ourselves the results of an ex¬ 
perience thus presented. In reference to 
American merchants, these “ biographical 
notices” furnish a supplement to the future 
history of our country, in which those finer 
shades of character, most interesting to the 
community, which are lost in the wide survey 
and generalizing spirit of the historian, are 
faithfully and accurately delineated. 

As the second commercial country on the 
globe—with ships navigating every sea and 
bartering with every nation—our merchants 
necessarily fill an important station in the 
world’s eye; on their honor, integrity, and 
energy, depend our national character abroad, 
and our internal condition at home. A fertile 
and extensive territory may form the basis 
of our wealth ; but commerce is to its prod uc- 
tions what machinery is to the raw material 
—it fashions, shapes, and sends forth. 

It is an historical fact, that Napoleon, when 
his imperial flag waved over thirty millions 
of people, derisively designated England as 
the “ nation of shopkeepers.” Time, how¬ 
ever, with its train of events, taught him to 
see, in his sad reverses of fortune, when 


stripped of his glories—exiled to a solitary 
rock in the Atlantic—deserted by his fol¬ 
lowers—a monument of fallen grandeur and 
defeated ambition—that to the pecuniary 
sacrifices and the devoted patriotism of the 
“ shopkeepers” he was indebted for that un¬ 
yielding opposition to his sway by wdiich 
Great Britain was distinguished, when, by 
his celebrated decrees and embargoes, he 
had closed the ports of Europe against her 
shipping; when monarchs were his puppets, 
thrones his footballs, and subjected nations 
the outposts of his military camp. If such 
were the national consequences attendant on 
the mercantile character and resources of 
England, what importance must ultimately 
attach to them in a country like our own, the 
shores of which embrace two oceans—the 
commerce of which already competes w r it.h 
its great rival, in every quarter of the globe 
—whose extensive lakes are whitened with 
the sails of inland navigation, and whose 
railroads form a chain of internal communica¬ 
tion which unites the most distant sections of 
an active population—levelling mountains, 
extending over rivers, and setting'distance and 
time at defiance ? 

Taking leave of the influence which the 
mercantile character exerts upon our external 
relations, we will now briefly advert to its 
effect on our physical, moral, and intellectual 
conditions. 

To our merchants we are chiefly indebted 
for the temples of religion, the halls of be¬ 
nevolence, the marts of commerce, the litera¬ 
ry institutions and other splendid edifices 
which adorn and distinguish our cities. Among 
which, we might place the Athenaeum at 
Boston, the institutions for the blind, the Uni¬ 
ted States’ bank and Girard college at Phila¬ 
delphia, the Exchange at Baltimore, the Astor 
house, at New York; and last, though not least, 
the various mercantile library associations, the 
proud boast of New York and other cities. 
Never have nobler monuments been erected to 
departed worth than these ten and twenty-thou- 
sand-volumed associations, with their lectures 
and other great moral influences. They are 
honorable to the memory of their mercantile 
founders, whose names are engraven in indeli¬ 
ble characters on their portals, and are con¬ 
secrated in the intelligence, welfare, and 
happiness of the nation. 

New York may safety challenge the world 
to produce an institution of a similar character, 
so important in its consequences to a rising 
and energetic community. 

In the midst of the fluctuations of com¬ 
merce, and the energies necessarily devoted 
to its steady advancement, it will be seen, 
that the merchant has not been undistinguish¬ 
ed among the moral and religious benefactors 
















MERCANTILE BIOGRAPHY. 


of mankind, nor unmindful of the injunction 
left by the mild Founder of Christianity to 
his followers—“ Go ye forth into all nations, 
and preach unto them the gospel of truth.” 
We owe to the benevolence of our mercantile 
community a great portion of the means raised 
to support missionaries among the aborigines, 
while some of its members, unaided, have 
sent forth the bearers of the gospel mission 
to the most distant nations of the earth. 

The mental and physical endurance which 
has distinguished the mercantile character, 
particularly in our own country, is not one 
ol its least extraordinary features; many of 
its possessors, who now rest from their labors, 
rose from extreme obscurity—saw their hopes 
and expectations blasted again and again— 
yet rising with renewed vigor from every 
stroke of fortune, eventually succeeded in 
acquiring an affluent independence ; the just 
reward of their unabated perseverance. 

In devoting an article in the present work 
to mercantile biography, we are influenced 
by a desire to exhibit the strong points of 
character which have distinguished the pa¬ 
triarchs of commerce, as furnishing examples 
to the young merchant of the present and 
future times, and as a stimulus to the attain¬ 
ment of the enviable distinction which they 
have acquired. 

The sources from which the following no¬ 
tices have been selected are various, and, 
generally, more contracted than we could have 
desired. The first name which we present 
to our readers, is that of 

George Cabot, a distinguished merchant 
and stateinan, born in Salem, Massachusetts, 
in 1752. He was educated as a merchant, 
and for several years visited foreign countries 
as a factor for his father, who was an enter¬ 
prising and opulent ship-owner. He was 
considered a young man of talent, and soon 
after commencing business, he was elected a 
member of the Massachusetts' provincial 
congress—of which General Warren was 
president. The good people of Massachusetts, 
wishing to alleviate the distresses of the times, 
proceeded to consider the propriety of fixing 
a maximum price upon foreign goods. This 
he opposed, with such strength of reasoning 
as to prevent any restriction upon commerce. 

During the war, he was an active merchant 
—he, with his brother, having at one period 
of the contest, twenty privateers of a large 
class, carrying from sixteen to twenty guns 
each. These vessels were very successful 
for four or five years; but the British, tow¬ 
ard the close of the war, having lost more 
than one thousand seven hundred merchant¬ 
men, grew wiser, and fitted out a large num¬ 
ber of frigates and gun-brigs, that were supe¬ 
rior in force to most of our privateers, and a 


451 


great portion of them were taken. The 
Cabots were severe sufferers, losing nearly 
all their armed ships before the war closed. 

When peace was restored to the country, 
Mr. Cabot was active in bringing the people 
to see the necessity of forming a sound and 
permanent general government. With oth¬ 
ers, he used the public press to enlighten the 
country upon the great doctrines of civil and 
political liberty. 

He was active in establishing a state 
constitution for Massachusetts, and afterward, 
in 1788, was a member of the convention for 
adopting a constitution for the United States. 
Soon after the constitution went into operation, 
he was chosen by the legislature of Massa¬ 
chusetts as a senator in Congress. In 1798, 
he was appointed, by John Adams, secretary 
of the navy, but he declined the appointment; 
yet he took an active part in assisting the 
government to build and equip a navy. Lib¬ 
eral loans were subscribed by the merchants 
in every part of the country, and Mr. Cabot 
was among the foremost. The government, 
fired at the insults and indignities offered our 
commerce by Franee, were so active in build¬ 
ing ships-of-war, that a few months were 
sufficient to take the timber from the forests 
to construct a sloop-of-war, and a few more 
days to get it ready for sea. 

A respectable force was soon on the ocean, 
and earned laurels wherever they met the 
enemy. 

During these dark hours of our history, 
when Hamilton and Ames were full of appre¬ 
hension for our destinies, Mr. Cabot was 
laboring with them in opening the eyes of the 
people, blinded by party feuds. It is said 
that Ames, always flowing, and sometimes 
too redundant, consulted Mr. Cabot in regard 
to his publications, and frequently submitted 
to his judgment when they differed in opinion. 

For many years of the latter part of his 
life, Mr. Cabot resided in Boston, where he 
was held in the highest estimation. If there 
was a matter of mercantile usage to be settled, 
he was consulted—if there was a misunder¬ 
standing between merchants, he was made 
arbitrator; ay, even if there were an affair 
of honor to be settled, his opinion was law. 
In 1815, he was elected from Suffolk county 
as a member of the Hartford convention, and 
was made president of that body. Where 
he was, every one was satisfied that all 
would be done with decency and correctness, 
in both manner and principle. He was brave, 
and discreet as brave. His ambitious days, 
if ever he had any, were over, and prudence 
and judgment were, at the time of the Hart¬ 
ford convention, his great characteristics. 
The person of Mr. Cabot was of the finest 
cast. He was tall and well proportioned. 






MERCANTILE BIOGRAPHY. 


452 


His head was a model, for the sculptor. There 
was a classical expression of the countenance, 
that made him the object of observation to 
every stranger. His movements were digni¬ 
fied, and his voice sonorous and commanding. 
Looking at him, you would say, there is a 
gentleman; and no one would question the 
assertion. He was as amiable as excellent; 
there was no asperity in his nature. He 
took a broad and noble view of every subject, 
and uttered his opinions with fearlessness, 
but with modesty—and his decisions were as 
oracles. Mr. Cabot died in April, 1823, in 
the seventy-second year of his age; and en¬ 
joyed through that long period, all that philos¬ 
ophy, philanthropy, and religion, could give 
to life. The civic wreath of such a man 
should be green for ever. 

William Gray, one of the most success¬ 
ful of American merchants, was born in Lynn, 
in the county of Essex, the commonwealth 
of Massachusetts, in the year 1751. He 
came, when quite a boy, to Salem, and was 
an apprentice, first to Samuel Gardner, Esq., 
an active merchant, but left him and fin¬ 
ished his apprenticeship with Mr. R. Der¬ 
by, also a business man of that place. Young 
Gray was an enterprising and indefatigable 
apprentice, and had acquired the confidence 
of the principal merchants in Salem when he 
commenced business for himself, which in 
that careful and industrious town, was a fine 
capital to begin upon. Mr. Gray was early 
prosperous in his affairs, and in less than 
twenty-five years after he commenced busi¬ 
ness, was considered and taxed as the weal thi- 
est man in the place, where there were sev¬ 
eral of the largest fortunes that could be found 
in the United States. He was all activity, 
and at times had more than sixty sail of square- 
rigged vessels. It was a fact that no mod¬ 
erate breeze could blow amiss for him, for 
every wind of heaven carried for him some 
vessel to port. For more than fifty years 
of his life he rose at the dawn of day, and was 
shaved and dressed before the common hour 
for others to rise. Being dressed, his letters 
and papers were spread before him, and every 
part of his correspondence brought up. He 
was, at the same moment that he put millions 
on the adventurous tracks for gain, with the 
boldest character, careful of all the small con¬ 
cerns of expenditures. This he considered 
as belonging to the duty of business. He 
had married, in early life, Miss Chapman, of 
Marblehead, the daughter of a distinguished 
lawyer. They had five sons and one daughter. 
Mrs. Gray was a woman of great powers of 
mind, well cultivated, and for many years 
was among the first in the social circle. 

During the embargo, Mr. Gray took side 
with Mr. Jefferson, notwithstanding his inter¬ 


est suffered greatly. His ships were rotting 
at the wharf. This course brought against 
him his old friends, and raised up a numerous 
host of new ones. He now removed to Bos¬ 
ton, and was elected lieutenant-governor of 
the state. He had several times been elected 
to the state senate, but politics were not his 
stronghold, and he sunk the great merchant 
in the common-place politician. His immense 
wealth was used for the wants of the govern¬ 
ment, with the liberality and confidence of 
one who believed that a government should 
not be poor when individuals were rich. It 
is doubtful whether any capitalist in the Uni¬ 
ted States did so much for the exigencies of 
government as Mr. Gray. And while others 
were speculating on the depreciation of secu¬ 
rities, no one will hesitate to say that his ex¬ 
ertions were dictated by the patriotism, with 
only the hopes of an honest remuneration. 
After the close of the war, he launched again 
into commerce, but not with his former suc¬ 
cess. Times had changed, but he had not 
changed with them and what was a safe cal¬ 
culation once, was not so now ; but still there 
can be no doubt but that he died a rich man, 
although no public inventory was ever taken 
of his estate, as his heirs gave bonds to pay 
debts and legacies—all the law of that state 
requires. Mrs. Gray died about two years 
before her husband, and his eldest son since 
his death. Mr. Gray was happy in his fam¬ 
ily, and was always a domestic man. He 
was worn out with the fatigues of business 
at the age of seventy-four, and departed this 
life, November 4, 1825. 

Philip Livingston descended from a re¬ 
spectable Scotch family, and was born at 
Albany, the 15th of January, 1716. He was 
educated at Yale college, and graduated with 
the class of 1737. He became a merchant in 
New York after leaving his alma-mater; 
and as there were but few well-educated mer¬ 
chants in Wall street at that time, he was 
soon quite at their head, and of course had 
offices at his command. In 1754, he was an 
alderman of the city of New York, and after 
serving in this capacity for four years, was 
sent to Albany, as a representative of the 
city. In this body he soon became a leader, 
and directed its attention to its great interests 
of commerce ; New York being then behind 
Boston and Philadelphia in her exports and 
imports. He was one of the committee of 
correspondence with the agent for the colony 
in England, the celebrated Edmund Burke ; 
and his letters abound in information and 
critical remarks. Mr. Livingston was in 
Congress in 1776, and affixed his name to the 
declaration of independence, for which he 
was a strenuous advocate. He was a mem¬ 
ber of the senate of New York, on the adop- 










MERCANTILE BIOGRAPHY. 


tion of the state constitutions; after which, 
under the provisions of that constitution, he 
was elected a member of Congress; but he 
was not long permitted to devote himself to 
the service of his country, for on the twelfth 
of June, 1778, he died, with angina pectoris , 
or the dropsy of the chest, often twin-mes¬ 
senger of death. He was a warm and fear¬ 
less patriot in severe times, when thick clouds 
enveloped our political horizon. 

Francis Lewis, one of the New York 
delegation in congress when the declaration 
of independence was made, was born in Wales, 
in 1723. He was partly educated in Scot¬ 
land, and then sent to Westminster, where 
he became a good classical scholar. In Lon¬ 
don he became an apprentice to a merchant, 
with whom he continued until he was of age. 
He then left England for America with hand¬ 
some prospects, and set up business in New 
York. He was agent for the British colonies 
in 1756, and was taken prisoner and carried 
to France, from which country, on his ex¬ 
change, he returned to New York. He was 
a lover of liberty, and stood foremost among 
the sons of freedom. In 1775, he was sent a 
delegate from the provincial congress of New 
York to the continental congress, and was 
there ■when the declaration of independence 
was made. He continued in that body for 
several years afterward, and rendered great 
service as a commercial man. He suffered 
much for his patriotism, the British having 
destroyed his property on Long Island. He 
had, however, the satisfaction of seeing the 
country prosperous, though he was not. He 
died on the thirtieth of December, 1813, in 
the ninetieth year of his age. 

Robert Morris was a native of England, 
but came to this country when quite young, 
and was educated in Philadelphia. After 
finishing his education, he entered a counting- 
house, and in a few years became conspicuous 
as a thorough merchant. When the revolu¬ 
tion broke out, Mr. Morris sided with the 
colonists, and was distinguished as a patriot. 
He was elected a delegate to the second con¬ 
tinental congress, and was in that body in 
1776, when the declaration of independence 
was signed. During the whole war, he was 
considered the ablest financier in the country, 
and Washington had recourse to him, when 
he could not procure anything from Congress. 
In 1781, Mr. Morris was appointed superin¬ 
tendent of finances, and was, perhaps, the 
only man in the country fit for the office. He 
had a most arduous task to perform; it was 
indeed gigantic, for it involved all the duties 
of every department of the government, so far 
as money was concerned. Washington had 
the highest confidence in him, and Franklin 
thought him a most wonderful man. He sur¬ 


453 


prised all by his power or raising money for 
public exigencies, when our credit was un¬ 
der the worst circumstances. He provided 
Washington with money to carry on his south¬ 
ern campaign against Cornwallis, the defeat 
of whose army ended the war. He died on 
the eighth of May, 1806, in the seventy-third 
year of his age. It may be said of him that 
he was a great public benefactor. 

Benjamin Pickman was born in Salem in 
1740. He was the son of a distinguished 
merchant in that town, and was graduated at 
Harvard college, in 1759. 

He entered his father’s counting-room after 
leaving college, and soon took a high stand 
in society. 

When the revolutionary war broke out, he 
was lieutenant-colonel of the Salem regiment, 
but he had not made up his mind that the 
time had arrived for the separation of the two 
countries. He was a friend to his own, but 
could not come to the doctrine of sudden dis¬ 
memberment. He went to England under a 
furlough from the legislature, and there did 
much good in assisting the unfortunate who 
were taken prisoners in the first years of the 
struggle. His wife and family remained in 
this country until the war closed, and of course 
his estates were not confiscated. In 1784, he 
returned to his native land, and was greeted 
with kindness by his old friends. He again 
commenced business as a merchant, but in the 
British spoliations lost no small part of his 
property. The treaty made by Jay returned 
him his property, and a fair interest on the 
same. He now relinquished all business, 
took his money and invested it in American 
stocks, and lived on its income—most ample 
means for his purpose. His table was one 
of the best in the country. He was classical, 
delicate in his feelings, and unshaken in his 
opinions, and every one was satisfied with his 
hospitable board. His conversation was gen¬ 
erally directed to ancient history, or to that 
of our country. He was at home in either, 
but made no parade of his learning. He was 
a man of ordinary talents, and of more than 
ordinary taste in classical literature. As an 
antiquary he was second to none ; he garnered 
up all that was curious or strange in his neigh¬ 
borhood, and was ready to give it to the pub¬ 
lic provided his name could be kept out of 
sight. 

He now placed the enjoyments of his life 
in ease, and never swerved from his princi¬ 
ples. He was blessed with an excellent wife 
and a delightful family. They were around 
him and administered to his comforts. He 
had three sons and two daughters, and all 
were devoted to his happiness. He rejoiced 
in the success of all he knew: his heart was 
full of philanthropy. 








WOMAN’S MISSION. 


454 


His person was noble, his height over six 
feet, his countenance was quiet, calm, but 
manly, and hardly bore the ordinary marks 
of age. In the eighty-first of his age he sunk 
to sleep, without having suffered many of 
those pains and aches which mortal man is 
liable to, in this scene of struggle and anguish. 

There were but few men in this world of 
so good a disposition, fewer still of so much 
intelligence and refinement, and none of great¬ 
er purity of character. 


WOMAN’S MISSION. 

Her mission is peculiar and sublime. 
There is a work to be done in the material 
world. The wildness of nature is to be sub¬ 
dued ; its barrenness and deformity are to be 
converted to fertility and beauty. Nature is 
to be brought more fully in subjection to the 
purposes of man ; but this work rests not on 
woman. There are new channels of com¬ 
merce to open, new lines of intercommunica¬ 
tion to establish, manufactures to promote, 
arts to foster, fields of discovery to explore, 
social systems to reconstruct, and political 
institutions to regenerate; but the peculiar 
mission of woman is not here. To all this, 
her work is what the soul is to the body— 
what the spirit is to the matter which it 
animates and informs. 

Woman is emphatically and essentially an 
educator. She operates not on wood and 
marble, but on mind. She takes it in the 
first dawning of intelligence and reason, and 
imparts its first knowledge of objects, and its 
first impressions of beauty. From her it 
imbibes not only its earliest, but its most 
permanent ideas of fitness and truth, of right 
and obligation. She gives character to all 
the future being of immortals, by the coloring 
which she imparts to the fountains of intel¬ 
lectual and moral life. She develops and 
trains the reason, and awakens and exercises 
those sensibilities on which all the after-emo¬ 
tions of the soul depend. She has the de¬ 
velopment and forming of the individual man. 
She takes him, like the unpolished block, and 
ceases not her care and toil, till he is wrought 
up to form, and grace, and symmetry, and 
strength. There is little in the first appear¬ 
ance of the rude shell to awaken our interest, 
or to attract our notice ; but when placed in 
the hands of the skilful artificer, it unfolds a 
brilliant pearl, worthy to deck the bosom of 
beauty, and to glitter in the crown of empire. 
So, when we look on humanity in its incipien- 
cy, there is little in its dull exterior to attract 


our attention, or to give impulse to our hope. 
But there is a gem there, which, when found 
and polished and exalted, will glitter in the 
ranks of intelligence, and reflect its light on 
the perfection and glory of the Creator. And 
this is a part of woman’s mission—to tear from 
this shell the spiritual gem which is hidden 
beneath its rude incrustations, and, working 
it up to its highest excellence, to set it among 
the brilliants which glow in the diadem of 
Jehovah’s intellectual glory. 

The social and political standing and in¬ 
fluence of mankind, not less than their in¬ 
tellectual character, are fixed and determined 
by woman. See that child. There is some¬ 
thing more than a smile of innocence, and a 
form of loveliness. There is a spirit which 
will grow in intellectual might, and impress 
its sentiments on the nation ; a spirit beneath 
whose mysterious incantations the ocean of 
feeling may be lashed to fury; a spirit by 
whose potency the deep foundations of the 
social world may be moved. That child is 
the cradling of a power which may curdle 
the feelings of humanity to curses, or call out 
the deep gratitude of its throbbing heart in 
universal praise. And who is to mould, and 
give impulse and direction to this tremendous 
energy ? Woman ! This is her mission. 

Woman is also a reformer. The influence 
of woman on the order of society is controlling. 
The influence of a single woman, in her own 
immediate circle, is only an epitomized ex¬ 
pression of the influence of woman, in the 
aggregate, on the masses of mankind. She 
wields in society a moral influence which 
man never can command. Her power makes 
itself felt, for good or evil, in all the walks 
of social life. It is wielded, not on the battle¬ 
field, nor in the senate : it is as noiseless, but 
still as pervading, as the light. It steals into 
all the ramifications of life, and occupies all 
the recesses of the heart. Woman is the 
destroyer, or the conservator, of the best in¬ 
terests and highest happiness of social man. 
One way or the other, her influence must be 
controlling. 

All this we suppose to be generally and 
clearly admitted truth. And in this view how 
commanding, how awfully responsible, is the 
position of woman. Look at the present 
aspect of society, and see the end toward 
which this amazing moral power is to be ex¬ 
erted. The spirit of reform, like the breath 
of God, is beginning to move on the dark and 
sluggish waters, over which the night of 
ages has brooded. Mind is awakening from 
its slumber, and casting away its fetters. 
Thought is aroused to a living and fearful 
intensity. Humanity is coming up from the 
grave in which despotism and ignorance have 
confined it, tearing off' its grave-clothes, and 











SNOW. 



455 


standing forth in the conscious dignity of 
liberty and reason. 

In all this, the work of woman is conser¬ 
vative. She must be seen and felt in all 
those movements; not, indeed, in strife and 
debate, but in those soft and gentle, yet con¬ 
trolling influences which she imposes on man¬ 
kind. It is hers to allay the effervescences 
of excitement, and to restrain the lawlessness 
of passion ; to imbue the movement with the 
mildness of charity, while she fortifies it with 
the power of principles. 

“ As she glances around, in the light of her smile, 
The war of the passion is hushed, for awhile, 
And Discord, content from his fury to cease, 
Reposes entranced on the bosom of Peace." 


SNOW: 

ITS NATURE AND FORMATION. 

Whatever is commonly before our eyes 
is usually regarded by us with less attention 
than it deserves to be. This is the case with 
snow. We pass it by unaware of its won¬ 
derful formation, careless of its very great 
value, and only aware that it is very white 
and very cold. But an examination of a flake 
of snow, with the assistance of a miscroscope, 
will show to us that in its structure there are 
great beauty and great skill. It will show to 
us, in short, that like all the other works of 
God, it is exceedingly wonderful. 

Where water is frozen the product is ice ; 
a thick, solid, and slim transparent substance. 
A comparison between a piece of ice, how¬ 
ever small, and a flake of snow, will speedily 
convince the reader of the very great differ¬ 
ence between the substances of which they 
consist. Whence is that difference? The 
grand influence which forms ice is the same 
as that which forms snow. That influence 
is intense cold. But in the two cases the 
cold is exerted upon particles in a different 
state of cohesion. When aqueous particles 
are closely cohered in the form of water, the 
influence of intense cold upon them produces 
a solid and ponderous body; i. e., ice. But 
when this description of particles is dispersed 
in vapors and greatly rarified, they are changed 
by intense cold into frozen particles of a less 
dense coherence. The difference between 
the density of those particles which, when 
acted upon by cold yield ice, and those which, 
exposed to the same influence, yield snow, is 
this : the latter are just twenty-four times 
lighter, bulk for bulk, than the former. The 
particles are only exceedingly rarified as to 
their bulk; but the bulk also is exceedingly 
small. So small indeed is it, that one such 


particle would present but a very minute ob¬ 
ject even when viewed with the powerful aid 
of the microscope. 

How, then, the curious reader will exclaim, 
such being the case, can the mere action of 
intense cold present to our view large flakes 
of snow ? The process by which this is 
brought about is, indeed, exceedingly curious; 
and, therefore, we will give a brief, and, of 
course, a faint, description of it. 

Floating in the upper atmosphere, let the 
reader imagine that he can see millions of 
minute drops, or points of vapor. Acted upon 
by intense cold, each of these drops or points 
is converted into a solid substance as fine as 
one of those little motes which we can 
sometimes see floating in the radiant sun¬ 
beams. As these descend lower and low¬ 
er in the atmosphere they attract each oth¬ 
er, and each flake of snow that we see glisten¬ 
ing in virgin whiteness upon the ground, 
consists of a multitude of these minute atoms 
of frozen matter, cohering together with the 
most perfect and beautiful uniformity. Sure¬ 
ly, when we perceive that even in a flake of 
snow so much ingenuity and design are per- 
ceivably existent, we ought to keep our atten¬ 
tion to surrounding objects perpetually upon 
the alert. Everything of God’s creation, 
however minute in itself or humble in the 
uses to which it is destined, is calculated to 
yield great pleasure to the attentive observer. 

It is by an attentive observation of the 
works of the Almighty that we are the most 
certainly and effectually led into a truly pious 
frame of mind. We can not pay attention 
to the innumerable wonders of the natural 
world without finding ourselves more able 
and more inclined, with every successive 
hour, to 

“ Look through nature up to nature’s God." 

This, indeed, is the most valuable end of 
all studies. All the other uses of knowledge 
have this one great defect, that they are tem¬ 
porary. But this great end of our studies is 
eternally useful: making us better fitted for 
the eternal favor of our Creator. 

Even of merely temporal value, the pursuit 
of natural philosophy is abundantly produc¬ 
tive ; and youth, who indulge themselves in 
it, are never at a loss for the most refined 
amusement; an amusement which instructs 
as well as delights, and, unlike most other 
amusements, never clogs and never leaves a 
sting behind it. 

OF THE USES OF SNOW. 

It is not merely about the structure of the 
visible things around us that we are occa¬ 
sionally too incurious ; we are but too apt to 
neglect to make inquiry into their uses. Snow 












SNOW. 


456 


is one of the many things of usefulness of 
which men are, in general, apt to make small 
or no account. Many of even those who do 
take the trouble to reflect on its effect upon 
the ground, form a very incorrect notion of 
it. Judging from its own nature and appear¬ 
ance, these persons infer that snow must ne¬ 
cessarily be injurious to the earth, by reason 
of its dampness and intense cold. The very 
reverse of this is what actually takes place. 

The thick covering of snow which lies upon 
the ground in winter, is so far from making 
the earth cold, that it, in truth, prevents it 
from being so. Were the dry earth exposed 
to the action of the bitter and piercing winds 
of winter, it would be utterly deprived of that 
genial warmth, without which the seed sown 
within it could not germinate. Tt is by the 
close and flaky covering of the shining snow, 
that a remnant of genial heat is preserved in 
the bosom of the earth. In vain do the pier¬ 
cing winds howl above ; they can not pene¬ 
trate that mantle with which God has clothed 
the face of nature. 

Some well-meaning, but mistaken writers, 
have essayed to prove, that snow has a chym- 
ical as well as a mechanical efficacy. They 
have imagined, and endeavored to prove, that 
it not only preserves to the earth that portion 
of warmth which is absolutely necessary to 
the process of germination, but also fertilizes 
it. As a covering, protecting the earth from 
the sharp winds, snow is useful indeed ; as a 
manure, it is utterly without virtue. It was 
not intended for a manure; and experiment 
has put it beyond doubt or question, that of 
the peculiar property which has been attrib¬ 
uted to it, it does not possess one particle 
more than common rain-water. 

The class of writers to whom we have al¬ 
luded, have supposed that snow possesses a 
large proportion of nitrous salts. If it did 
possess these, it would undoubtedly tend to fer¬ 
tilize the earth : but it does not possess them. 
The aqueous particles were supposed to ac¬ 
quire these salts in the process of being frozen; 
but elaborate and well-conducted experiments 
have shown that although rain-water and 
snow contain a quantity of calcareous earth, 
and a very small quantity of nitrous and mu¬ 
riatic acids, the rain-w'ater has, in fact, the 
larger portion of the two. And even the rain 
has them in such an exceedingly small pro¬ 
portion, that it can not by any possibility de¬ 
rive any fertilizing virtue from them. 

We need not go out of the way to exaggerate 
the usefulness of the creations of God. They 
have in reality such abundant, and in most 
cases such palpable usefulness, that to ad¬ 
mire them it is only necessary that we dili¬ 
gently and curiously observe them. 

Observation of the appearances of nature 


leads us, almost insensibly, to moral reflection. 
How dreary is the uniformity and bleakness 
of the appearance of nature in winter! We 
can not look abroad without feeling a sense 
of chilliness; and we could almost imagine 
that our own fireside has less than usual of 
its warm and cheerful influence. We repine 
at our temporary privation of the fruits and 
the pleasant scenery of summer; and even 
exclaim against the uncouth and rugged as¬ 
pect of the winter. And yet, were it not for 
the preserving power of that snow, whose 
dazzling' uniformity offends us so much, we 
should look in vain for the rich fruits and ver¬ 
dant lawns of the gay summer. The seeds 
and the tender plants would be utterly de¬ 
stroyed, and we should not only be without 
the beauty of summer, but also without food. 
The golden harvest, which is so dear to us, 
would not wave in beautiful luxuriance, had 
not the dreary snow been wrapt as a mantle 
round the earth during the chill season of 
winter. 

Even so is it with our moral nature. We 
are plunged into the midst of difficulties and 
dangers—we look abroad, and all is dreary, 
dark, and threatening. Short-sighted and of 
little faith, we are ready upon the moment to 
exclaim that we are deserted and must needs 
perish. Time flies on, our prospects brighten, 
and our difficulties and dangers vanish from 
before us. We look back with calm and un¬ 
deluded minds upon the past, and discover 
that those very circumstances which most 
strongly excited our distrust and discontent, 
were the means of our preservation. 

Due reflection in this way will never fail 
to afford us comfort and fortitude in the midst 
of all difficulties, however immense and seem¬ 
ingly unavoidable. We shall learn to con¬ 
sider our misfortunes and perplexities as a 
moral winter. We may look with some 
annoyance, indeed, upon the dreary and com¬ 
fortless prospect around us, but we shall reflect 
that a brighter season will ere long shine upon 
us. We shall long, indeed, for the lovely 
spring-time, and the glorious summer; but 
we shall not the less feel the necessity of our 
enduring these wintry rigors so essential to per¬ 
fecting the works of those more genial seasons. 

We shall thus, even in our sorrows and our 
sufferings, create a source of rejoicing; pres¬ 
ent privations will give us hope of future en¬ 
joyment, and the most imminent dangers will 
seem to be but a rugged pathway to security 
and peace. In a word, we shall learn to rely 
with pious constancy upon Him who can 
make all things work together for our good ; 
and we shall find both profit and comfort in 
the habit which we shall insensibly acquire 
of believing and hoping that 

“ Whatever is, is best .” 









THE WINTHROP MONUMENT. 


457 



•(ysz 


THE WINTHROP MONUMENT. 

HONOR TO WHOM HONOR IS DUE. 

EYERAL articles 
having lately ap¬ 
peared in our pub¬ 
lic journals on the 
subject of erecting 
a suitable tomb to 

the memory of 
•/ 

John AVintiirop, 
the first governor 
of Massachusetts, and founder 
of the city of Boston, we now 
have the pleasure of presenting 
to our readers an appropriate 
monumental design, conceiving 
it to be a suitable mode of call¬ 
ing public attention more di¬ 
rectly and effectually to this 
noble and praiseworthy object. 

Gratitude for eminent servi¬ 
ces, honor to piety and virtue, 
admiration for lofty genius, impelled by noble 
aims, are among the best traits of the human 
character. As education is the chief defence 
of well-governed nations, and the sure though 
slow corrector of political abuses and public 
wrongs, so are manifestations of general es¬ 
teem and gratitude for those who have nobly 
served their country or race, the fittest and 
truest earthly reward of their well-doing, and 
the cheapest incentive to lives of unbending 
integrity and enduring patriotism. As it is 
the ordinance of Heaven, that the virtues of 
men should survive them, in a grateful and 
purifying influence, so it is alike due to the 
memory of the great and good who are gone, 
and to the best interests of those who come af¬ 
ter them, that those who have known their 
worth and devotion to the public good should 
embody in an enduring monument those rec¬ 
ollections, so that when the eye of the citizen 
or traveller beholds it, his pulse may beat with 
a quicker vibration. 

There is in the neighborhood of Lucerne, 
in Switzerland, carved in high relief, upon the 
vertical face of an immense rock among the 
mountains, a colossal lion, pierced by a lance, 
and dying upon a shield. It was sculptured 
there in honor of the memory of those intrepid 
Swiss who, on the 10th of August, 1792, sealed 
with their lives their devotion to the unfortu¬ 
nate king of Franee. It is the noblest tribute 
to the virtue of fidelity which the world can 
show. AYe doubt not that many a failing 
purpose to do well has been strengthened, 
many a wavering resolution confirmed, by the 
si "lit of this glorious monument, and new vows 
made by the beholder to fulfil with unfaltering 
zeal his duties to his country. Its eloquence 


must be irresistible—its silent language must 
do more than the words of poet or orator. 

It would be an act of treason to posterity, 
if no permanent record of AVintiirop should 
go down to them. In this venerated man, 
whose virtues we wish here to perpetuate, 
we behold no mere mediocrity, either of in¬ 
telligence or virtue. He lived emphatically 
for the future. It was his bright ambition 
to do good to others—to advance the cause 
of benevolence, of science, of mercy, of reli¬ 
gion. Living in ease, comfort, and abundance, 
in the country of his birth, Mr. AVinthrop 
cheerfully renounced all these at an advanced 
period of life, and embarked his fortune in 
the arduous attempt to settle a people on the 
distant shores of a new world. Of ardent 
temperament, wffth a well-stored and cultiva¬ 
ted mind, and possessing in no ordinary degree 
those estimable qualities that endear man to 
his fellow-man, he was well suited to conduct 
and manage a rising community, such as that 
over which he presided, and to establish among 
its members that love of order and deference 
to authority, which have ever been the char¬ 
acteristics of the New England states. Ac¬ 
cordingly, we find him elected to be the first 
governor of Massachusetts ; to which distin¬ 
guished station, with the intermission of a few 
years, he was re-elected to the period of his 
death, which occurred in 1649. The influ¬ 
ence of his stern, simple-hearted faith, makes 
at this day a broad, deep mark on the charac¬ 
ter of the whole American people.* 

AVhether we view Governor AVinthro-f 
individually, in the discharge of his public- 
duties, in the private and domestic relations 
of life, or in a more extended sense, as con¬ 
nected with a momentous epoch in the history 
of his country, he is eminently deserving of 
some public and lasting record of his useful¬ 
ness and virtue—one befitting the wealth and 
intelligence of the capital of the state in which 
his ashes repose, and expressive of the esti¬ 
mation in which his memory is held by the 
descendants of those who lived under his equa¬ 
ble rule. And this is rendered more neces¬ 
sary, when we reflect upon the remarkable 
and stirring scenes with which he was con- 

* Tribute to New England. —Mr. Calhoun, in 
his letter to the New England Society committee at 
Washington, declining an invitation to their dinner on 
the 22d December, takes occasion to say : “ By what 
causes has so inconsiderable a beginning, under such 
formidable, and apparently almost insurmountable dif¬ 
ficulties, resulted, in so brief a period, in such mighty 
consequences ? They are to be found in the high 
moral and intellectual qualities of the pilgrims : their 
faith, piety, and confident trust in a superintending 
Providence; their stern virtues ; their patriotic love 
of liberty and order; their devotion to learning ; and 
their indomitable courage and perseverance. These 
are the causes which surmounted every obstacle, and 
which have led to such mighty results.” 









THE WINTHROP MONUMENT. 


458 


nected, forming a striking feature in American 
history—a sort of starting-point, from which 
to date the commencement of our subsequent 
greatness—and whose results continue to af¬ 
fect the world at large, by opening up a wide 
field for industry and enterprise, and offering an 
asylum to the oppressed and destitute of other 
lands. It ought never to be forgotten, that 
the sons of the pilgrims were the founders and 
pillars of our republic, and formed the first 
gallant band who, midst the conflict of party 
feeling, or the despondency of national mis¬ 
fortune, staked their happiness, life, and hon¬ 
or, for the political regeneration and independ¬ 
ent existence of our country ; and, by their 
united wisdom and experience, became the 
instruments, in the hands of an overruling 
Providence, of fixing the destiny of this na¬ 
tion. There is a secret pleasure and satisfac¬ 
tion in thus tracing the fountain to its source 
—in recalling to mind the times and scenes 
when those plans were first suggested and 
carried out that have elevated us into the 
enjoyment of that freedom whose effects have 
been, and still continue to be, a rapid career 
of greatness and glory, the increasing admi¬ 
ration of the civilized world.* 

* Christianity started the human mind on its pres¬ 
ent career of independent inquiry, activity, and prog¬ 
ress. Teaching every man that to his own master 
he standeth or falleth, iiufjosing on him a responsi¬ 
bility which eternity alone measures, and which he 
can not divide with another, it necessarily throws 
him off from proscription to think and act for himself 
Never has Christianitj r penetrated a country, nor a 
cottage, nor a cabin, without awaking the mind to 
earnest thought and drawing out its energies to ear¬ 
nest action. The Protestant Reformation is an in¬ 
stance on a large scale. It was then that Christi¬ 
anity stood over the grave of free inquiry, as Jesus at 
the grave of Lazarus, and cried, “ Come forth.’' Forth 
came that spirit, and the grave-clothes of superstition 
were cast away. She has gone abroad no more to 
die; she has roused men to action; she has ripped 
up old errors ; she has tom away abuses; she has dug 
up buried truths; she has multiplied inventions, in¬ 
creased wealth, diffused comforts ; she has changed 
the face of the world. Though she has often forgot¬ 
ten and sometimes stabbed tbebeneiactor that raised 
her from the grave, and allying herself with the sel¬ 
fish and the devilish, has committed excesses at 
which Christianity weeps, yet it was Christianity 
that started her career, and that ever is striving to 
restrain it, that it may be only a career of blessing. 

It is a singular fact, commented on by Guizot, that, 
at the very time when, in the church, the spirit of 
free inquiry was going forth, in the state, power was 
rapidly concentrating in the monarch. But the free¬ 
dom of inquiry awakened by Christianity, could not 
long exist without being brought to act on the state. 
And history shows, in quick succession, English Pu¬ 
ritanism, the settlement of New England, the Eng¬ 
lish revolution, the American revolution—all results 
of the collision of mind freed by Christianity, with 
the growing despotism of the state. 

Thus, not the Puritans alone, to whose influence in 
advancing liberty, even Hume testifies, but in all the 
history of Christendom, the church has been ahead 
of the state, and taken the lead in its progress; it 
has occasioned the opposition to tyranny which has 


Perhaps there is no quality of the mind so 
little developed among us as that of venera¬ 
tion. We pav a passing tribute, it is true, to 
the hero of the hour—we bow before the 
rising sun, and mingle our shouts with the 
huzzas of the crowd; but there our homage 
ceases—the heart is not affected. We honor 
the pageant of a day ; but our gratitude would 
seem to be the offspring rather of favors hoped 
for, than of those received, and to end with 
the power to benefit. We can hardly over¬ 
estimate the beneficial influence of the monu¬ 
mental art upon the general character of a 
people like ourselves. It would bring before 
us in our daily walks the idea of country in a 
visible shape. It would impersonate ner to 
us as a kind mother, as a being to love and 
honor—to live for, to die for. But few are 
the monuments raised by public feeling over 
the remains of public benefactors. Few are 
the permanent memorials of the people to 
great and good men departed. Even Boston, 
the model city of New England, is in this 
respect deficient. We have no king, no court, 
no imposing forms and ceremonies to serve as 
external signs. We need something tangible 
to cling to and rally around— the outward 
types and symbols afforded by monumental 
art. When these become scattered through¬ 
out our country, they will, like so many mis¬ 
sionaries, preach perpetual sermons of patri¬ 
otism, beauty, and taste, and sow seeds which 
will spring up and bear fruit a hundred-fold, 
through the length and breadth of the land. 
There are unw'rought mines of wealth in the 
human soul, and in none more richly than in 
the minds of our own countrymen : they lie 

specially marked the last two hundred years ; it has 
originated and in some respects to a degree guided 
the career of activity to which with such almost fear¬ 
ful energy, the human mind is now roused. 

Christianity alone infused into popular progress the 
sublime element of the rights of man—rights belong¬ 
ing to man, not by grant of rulers, nor by accident of 
birth, or wealth, or nature ; but belonging to him as 
rnan. Tory journalists of the old world still deny 
that there are any such things as inalienable rights ; 
that there is any equality of man. But these are 
realities. Their foundation and their only founda¬ 
tion is the teaching of the gospel, Honor all men, the 
grand gospel doctrine of the brotherhood of man. 
They have no meaning except as derived from the 
gospel, which teaches that w r e are all the offspring 
of one Father, subjects of one law, fallen under one 
condemnation, redeemed by the same Savior, equally 
bound to love all as ourselves, and destined alike to 
the same judgment. Our declaration of indepen¬ 
dence, so far as it teaches the equal rights of man, is 
but an application to civil affairs of that principle’of 
universal love which Christ taught. The idea in 
question and kindred sentiments! have become pop¬ 
ular of late. Demagogues and infidels love to harp 
on them. The fact shows how powerful is the hold 
which they at last have gained on the human mind. 
But let them who use them know that these senti¬ 
ments are the creatures of eternity, the gift of Chris¬ 
tianity to man. 






THE WINTHROP MONUMENT. 


hidden. Little, however, will have been ac¬ 
complished, till “the general taste and skill 
shall have arisen to that mediocrity which is 
the first step in useful progress, and which 
forms a vantage-ground where genius may 
plume itself with a nobler emulation, and 
stretch its wings for the highest heaven of 
invention of ideal beauty and imitative per¬ 
fection.”* 

In the Chapel burying-ground in Tremont 
street, Boston, in a single and humble tomb, 
the dust of the Winthrops and that of the 
Searses have long mingled in obscurity. It 
is not to be supposed for a moment, however, 
that the absence of such a memento to de¬ 
parted usefulness, as is here suggested, arises 
from any want of inclination or pecuniary 
ability, on the part of the relatives of this 
celebrated man. The two surviving heads 
of the family—the Hon. Robert C. Win- 
throp and the Hon. DAViD Sears —we know 
have always been ready, and have seriously 
thought, of raising a suitable monument near 
the spot hallowed by containing all that is 
mortal of their ancestors, and particularly 
over the remains of John Winthrop, first 
governor of Massachusetts, and founder of the 
city of Boston ; but they have been withheld 
from doing so, in the belief that, if done at all, 
it should be done by the public. They feel 
assured that the recollection of one who pos¬ 
sessed a people’s love, should be transmitted 
to posterity by a people’s gratitude, and that 
any interference on their part might be deemed 
an assumption at once indelicate and ostenta¬ 
tious. Nor would there be any lack of means 
on behalf of the community ; for we are con¬ 
vinced, that the mere concentration of the 
public mind on the proposed object would not 
only procure a tender of ample funds; “but,” 
to use the language of a late writer on the 

* Influence of the Fine Arts. —Wherever 
the arts are cultivated with success, they almost im¬ 
perceptibly educate the general taste, and make po¬ 
liteness of mind keep pace with refinement of man¬ 
ners. They are to a highly commercial and opulent 
state of society, what chivalry was to the feudal sys¬ 
tem ; they wear down its asperities, correct the sel¬ 
fishness of its action, enliven the dullness of its re¬ 
pose, and mitigate the fierceness of its enjoyments. 
Where the arts are well understood, fashion can not 
be so monstrous or fantastic as where they exert no 
salutary dominion over the fond love of variety. The 
source of excellence in art being a judicious observa¬ 
tion of nature, and a right perception of her princi¬ 
ples of beauty and symmetry, a closer adherence to 
nature will mark the fashions of society polished by 
their ascendency than can distinguish the habits of 
people without the sphere of their influence. Hence 
the barbaric nations, where there is much wealth, 
never expend it in such a way as proves they have 
any notion of the pleasures of refinement. They en¬ 
deavor to attract admiration through the vulgar pas¬ 
sion of adornment, which is in a moment excited, and 
as suddenly expires, rather than create a rational re¬ 
spect by consulting for the praise of enlightened 
opinion. 


459 


subject, “ to render the expression of public 
sentiment as diffuse as is desirable, the amount 
of individual subscription would require to be 
restricted .” 

We are a young and rapidly-growing coun¬ 
try—the world’s hope and expectation. Our 
ancestors conquered the hardships of the wil¬ 
derness, and posterity will demand of us, their 
descendants, to make it bloom and blossom, 
by introducing into it the refinements of social 
life, and the elevated thoughts and principles 
of a religious and patriotic people. For the 
first enough has been done, for the second 
much remains yet to do, and no measure will 
advance the object more than to honor the 
dead.* 

* “ But I will say a word on the effect of art on 
national feeling. Some one has said, * Give me the 
writing of the songs of a country, and you may make 
its laws.’ I had almost said, ‘ Give me the control of 
the art of a country, and you may have the manage¬ 
ment of its administrations.’ There can be no greater 
folly than that committed by our statesmen, when 
they treat art and literature as something quite aside 
from great national interests. The tariff, internal im¬ 
provements, banks, political speeches, and party 
measures, are put paramount to them, and yet they 
all together do not so educate the soul of the nation. 
They affect simply its food and clothing, and money, 
and offices, in the days of Italian glory, artists and 
poets were the companions of kings, and kings were 
honored by the companionship. They were fostered 
not more from taste than from self-interest. Art is 
too often looked upon as an abstract tiling, designed 
only for men of taste and leisure. The painting or 
statue which is the embodiment of the ideal perfect 
in the artist may be so, but there are other more use¬ 
ful departments of art not to be overlooked. Every 
great national painting of a battle-field, or great com¬ 
position, illustrating some event in our history—every 
engraving, lithograph, and wood-cut, appealing to na¬ 
tional feeling and rousing national sentiment—is the 
work of art; and who can calculate the effect of all 
these on the minds of our youth ? Pictures are 
more powerful than speeches. Suppose that every 
painting and engraving, whether rude or complete, 
every monument to human worth, were removed 
from this country for the next forty years—what 
would be the effect on the national taste and feeling ? 
And yet for all that our statesmen involuntarily do 
for these things, such a burial would take place. 
They show themselves but half acquainted with the 
true resources of the nation when they overlook or 
neglect its genius and refined talent. Patriotism, that 
noblest of sentiments, for it is a sentiment as well as 
a principle, and governs more in that capacity than 
in the other, is kept alive by art more than by all the 
political speeches of the land. I should like to see 
the Massachusetts’ army that would retreat out of 
the shadow of Bunker Hill Monument before a for¬ 
eign foe. Were it necessary in some great crisis of 
our country’s fate, to move an audience like this to 
some heroic resolution demanding peril, and perhaps 
death—if speech should fail to do it, I would ask only 
for the canvass to unroll before you, on which was 
flung, with an artist’s hand, the battle of Bunker Hill. 
I would point to that little redoubt on the crest of the 
hill, curtained in with the smoke of battle—to the 
shattered columns breaking down the slope—to the 
flames of burning Charlestown, shooting toward 
heaven—without one word. The artist should speak, 
and he were a slave that could resist his appeal. 
Could a man be a coward, fighting in the shadow of 









THE WINTITROP MONUMENT. 


460 


How shall we reward great public servi¬ 
ces ? We have no titles of nobility—no le¬ 
gions of honor. Our pension-lists are restrict¬ 
ed—our offices must be filled in rotation by 
swarms of greedy partisans. And these gifts, 
even if we could confer them, would be inad¬ 
equate and unacceptable compensations to 
generous minds. No—like the .Romans and 
the Greeks, let us erect monuments and stat¬ 
ues, in marble and in bronze, to the memory 
of those whose fame shall remain bright and 
untarnished to distant ages. The hope of 
being thus honored would prove a fitting stim¬ 
ulus, a sufficient consolation, to many a lofty 
soul. Many a true-hearted patriot, who trusts 
the vindication of his career to succeeding 
ages, and treads with unfaltering footsteps the 
path of duty, reviled by his enemies, doubted, 
mistaken by his friends, would die content, if 
he should see with prophetic vision the mists 
of prejudice and error dispersed, and the no¬ 
blest monument that art can dedicate to his 
name, shining in the serene light of future 
years. 

The fatherland has in this set us a noble 
example. There is not a county, hardly a 
town, in Old England, which is not dignified 
by a column, an obelisk, or a tablet, in mem- 

a monument to Washington ? What American sol¬ 
dier would retire from such a spot, if compelled to 
retire before a superior force, with the countenance 
of Washington looking mournfully down on him, with¬ 
out his heart breaking within him ? The moral power 
of example is stronger than numbers. England un¬ 
derstands how much national pride and patriotism 
are kept alive by paintings of her great events and 
monuments raised over her dead heroes. I have 
seen the duke of W ellington spurring his steed by 
his own colossal statue, melted from the cannon lie 
himself took in battle, reared to him by a grateful 
country before he died. London has her Trafalgar 
Square, and a glorious monument to Nelson. Even 
Andre has a monument in St. Paul’s cathedral. 
Whenever an English patriot falls, England calls on 
art to come and consecrate the spot. So does France; 
so has Italy in all ages. Kings and statesmen have 
understood how much national existence depends on 
national pride and patriotism, and how much also 
those depend on monuments and mementos of her 
great dead. The palace of Versailles is filled with 
paintings of Bonaparte’s great battles. I once saw 
a young painter in the kingdom of Sardinia who had 
suffered imprisonment for painting one of the strug¬ 
gles of the Genoese republic for freedom. All the 
fury and excitement of a headlong fight between the 
people and the government were thrown upon the 
canvass, recalling the days of Spinola. The painting 
was seized and locked up, and the young artist im¬ 
prisoned. What was the matter? Art, which is 

. ever on the side of liberty, had come up with her si¬ 
lent, yet strong appeal to the popular feeling. Every 
stroke of young Isola’s brush was a bugle note, sum- 

f moning the spirit of freedom from its grave, and call¬ 
ing on it to rise and seize its ancient heritage. The 
youth of every land are educated more by art than 

1 by speeches Let monuments rise from Concord, 
Lexington, Bennington, Ticonderoga, Yorktown, and 
Plattsburgh, and Chippewa, and Lundy’s Lane, and 

| New Orleans, and as the rail-car flies over the coun- 

I 

1 L — .. - 


ory of its illustrious men. There is not a 
college or charitable institution which is not 
adorned with the portraits of its patrons. Ven- 
eration is the distinctive characteristic of her 
people, and has tended, perhaps, as much as 
any other quality to make them what they 
are—a wise, a powerful, and a polished na¬ 
tion. Chivalric and noble sentiments are nat¬ 
urally associated with permanent monuments 
raised by the enthusiasm and gratitude of a 
community to the heroism or philanthropy of 
its distinguished citizens. Old men feel a 
pride in narrating the noble deeds of the illus¬ 
trious dead, and pointing them out as exam¬ 
ples to their hearers. Young men listen with 
respect, and promise to emulate their good¬ 
ness ; and children catch and adopt the 
thoughts and feelings of their fathers. Thus 
a public sentiment is formed, which, while it 
graces and adorns the individual, gives dig¬ 
nity and honor to the nation. The tower- 
capped hills of England, her castles, her ca¬ 
thedrals, and Westminster abbey, have un¬ 
doubtedly had their influence, and operated 
as powerful agents in modelling her character 
and stamping the features of her people. And 
be it remembered, it is not to her great cap¬ 
tains and naval heroes alone that she raises 

try, let these records of our straggles and our victo¬ 
ries come and go on the hasty traveller, and noble 
thoughts and purposes will mingle in the headlong 
excitement after gain. Let the statues of the sign¬ 
ers of the declaration of independence line Pennsyl¬ 
vania avenue, and he who walks between them to 
the capitol will be a better man and better patriot ? 
Let great paintings, illustrating our chequered, yet 
most instructive history, fill our public galleries, and 
when the country wants martyrs they will be ready. 
But, alas ! I am speaking of what ought to be, and 
not ol what is. I have been appealing, also, to the 
self-interest of the nation, when I ought to have been 
speaking of the claims on a nation’s gratitude. To 
outward eyes America is the most ungrateful country 
on the face of the earth. The nation has never yet 
reared a monument to its father, founder, and savior 
—Washington. I have seen a chapel reared to 
Vv illiam Tell on the spot where he sent the arrow 
through the tyrant’s heart; and a monument to 
Winkkelred, who gathered the spears of ihe enemy 
into his body, to make an opening through which 
liberty might strike. The countries of the old world 
are covered with paintings and monuments to those 
who fell in a less worthy cause than freedom. But 
where are the monuments to Allen, and Starke, and 
Putnam, and Warren, and Perry, and M'Donough, 
and Decatur, and Jackson, and Lawrence ? Young 
Hale was sent as a spy by Washington into the ene¬ 
my’s camp. Being discovered, he was hung on a 
gallows, and met his fate with the lofty enthusiasm 
and courage of a Spartan hero. He laid down his 
young life, without a murmur, for his country. But 
who can tell where he sleeps ? His country, in her 
hour of darkness and bitter need, asked for his life, 
and he gave it without a sigh ; and now that country 
dishonors his grave. Yet Andre has a monument in 
the heart ot the British empire ! . . . Who would 
wish to die for a country that treats its martyrs so 1” 
—Extract from a speech of the Rev. J. T. Headley, 
before the American Art Union. 





















THE WINTHROP MONUMENT. 461 


her pyramids of honor; but she delights to j 
award the same distinction to her statesmen, 
her philanthropists, her literati—showing the j 
progress of the age in its estimate of the ele¬ 
ments of greatness. Such mindmarks can 
not be mistaken ; no eye so heavy as not to 
see them—no head so dull as not to understand 
them—no heart so cold as not to be moved by 
them. They are the best history for the peo¬ 
ple—written in the plainest language. 

And what have the Anglo-Saxons of Amer¬ 
ica—the proud descendants of this mighty 
people—to show of such a history ? Almost 
nothing. Bunker Hill rears its granite form 
in nearly solitary splendor ; and here and there 
is found a statue of Washington, and, per¬ 
haps, at remote distances, a monument or a 
ruin may attest a victory or a death—but be¬ 
yond these, the 'people have made no record. 

Historians and chronologists have registered 
facts and dates, but the sovereign will is still 
silent on the actors. It has neither conferred 
a dignity nor accorded an evidence of merit. 
This should no longer be. If to put in action 


the incentives to noble deeds, to moral excel¬ 
lence, and to love of country, be desirable or 
| useful, then honor the dead. liaise monu¬ 
ments to the great and good, and show to the 
living that patriotic deeds never die in the 
hearts of the people. And who more honor¬ 
able to begin with than the founder of the 
city of Boston, and the first governor of Mas¬ 
sachusetts ? Or what name more distinguished 
can Boston boast of, or one more worthy of a 
place in the people's record , than that of 
WlNTHROP ? 

Note.— The following faetlias been communicated 
to us by one of the family, and may be safely relied 
upon : Colonel Stephen Wiuthrop, the son of the first 
governor of Massachusetts, was colonel in the guards 
of Oliver Cromwell. He was appointed (though not 
commissioned) as general, to succeed Major-General 
Harrison ; and was also a member of parliament. 
By his will, he bequeathed .£100 sterling, to the 
town of Boston, in New England, on condition “that 
the town would erect a suitable monument to the 
memory of his beloved parent.” We believe no ac¬ 
tion was ever taken by the town on the subject, nor 
any acknowledgment given of the receipt of the be¬ 
quest. 


First Settlement of Boston. 









































































































































462 LANDING OF WINTHROP, AND SETTLEMENT OF BOSTON. 


LANDING OF WINTHROP AT SALEM, 

AND SETTLEMENT OF BOSTON. 

In tracing the history of the early settlers 
of this country, what a source of pleasant re¬ 
flection we have, in the fact that our ances¬ 
tors, in coming here, were not allured by the 
golden dreams of avarice, or by the glowing 
descriptions of the luxuriance of the soil, 
abounding in perpetual fruits and flowers—an 
earthly paradise, teeming with all that could 
satisfy the appetite, or regale the senses; nor 
were they, like some colonists, disgorged from 
the mother-country, to keep the remaining 
population sound and pure—a surplus mass 
thrown off to prevent national apoplexy, or 
political spasm—such a population as some¬ 
times went from Attica to take possession of 
the islands in the numerous seas about them, 
or to the more distant shores of Africa; nor 
were they sent by the parent-country to gain 
a footing near or on the territories of other 
nations. No ! a loftier sentiment, a nobler 
spirit of enterprise, filled their bosoms, and 
induced them to abandon the comforts, the 
luxuries of civilized life, traverse three thou¬ 
sand miles of ocean, and plant their standard 
on the wild shores of this western world. 
The sober calculations of forming a thrifty 
settlement which should be a home for them¬ 
selves and their descendants, where they 
could enjoy a perfect freedom in thought and 
speech, and worship God according to the dic¬ 
tates of their own consciences, impelled most 
of the early emigrants to these shores. 

“ They sought not gold, nor guilty ease, 

Upon this l'ock-bound shore— 

They left such prizeless toys as these, 

To minds that loved them more. 

They sought to breathe a freer air, 

To worship God unchained, 

They welcomed pain and danger here, 
Where rights like these were gained.” 

They were fully sensible of their situation. 
They could not anticipate all the occurrences 
which might happen in their destinies, but 
they were determined to commence upon the 
broad principle, that knowledge and virtue 
are the pillars of power and security in every 
national code. They saw physical means 
about them for an almost interminable in¬ 
crease of population. The sea was on one 
side, and boundless forests on the other. Nav¬ 
igable rivers were flowing into the oceans. 
Nothing but a thinly-scattered race of rude 
men stood in their wav to the founding of an 
empire larger than the world had ever seen. 
Nature seemed to have waited from her birth 
until this hour for their coming, to give them 
possession of her bounties. This was the 
place for contemplation, and the place to 
originate a new course of thoughts upon 


political and civil liberty. There were in 
these retreats no shouts of the conqueror, no 
moans of the conquered ; the time resembled 
the cool of the evening, and the place the 
abode of innocence, when and where other 
beings were at rest, and God walked with 
man in his primeval state. Everything, in 
America, was to be begun, and everything 
seemed to depend upon themselves ; with this 
happy difference, however, between us and 
those in paradise, for our safety and happiness 
were to depend upon eating freely of the tree 
of knowledge, which was forbidden to him 
who first sprang from the dust of the earth. 
Here was offered the opportunity to cultivate 
the mind without the trammels and fetters 
which embarrass and blind those bom in aged 
and decaying communities. Here plains, and 
vales, and hills, offered opportunities for all 
the experiments of agriculture. No agrarian 
law was needed to give men an equality ; 
there was one passed already by nature with¬ 
out stint. The sites for cities were unoccu¬ 
pied ; and they exercised their judgments 
upon the subject of a proper place to build 
them, without statutes or restraints. The po¬ 
litical compact was to be formed and altered 
as the covenanters could agree ; for there was 
no other lawgiver than their own understand¬ 
ings, no Solons but their own wisdom, no Ly- 
curguses but the severe discussions of their 
own judgments. There was no syren to al¬ 
lure them from their duties to the rocks on 
which they might sleep until their locks of 
strength were shorn. There were no beds of 
flowers beneath which the serpent’s flattery 
and fashion might glide to wound their naked 
feet with sharp stings. Indolence to them 
would have been death; and labor, that sup¬ 
posed curse on man, was a blessing. Thus 
stripped of every shackle, they began their 
work of founding an empire. "’By the lights 
emitted from their minds shall we trace the 
path they pursued, and the deeds they per¬ 
formed. The light of the sun passes away 
with the going down of the same ; but the 
accumulated light of successive ages of intel¬ 
lect, like the precious stones which adorn the 
city of God, chases away all darkness, and 
beams in eternal splendor.* 

* The following lines, from the North American 
Review, are so truthful and beautiful a tribute to the 
virtues of the “ early founders of the republic,” that 
we can not resist the inclination to give them a place 
in this connexion :— 

“ The Puritans—there is a charm in that word 
which will never be lost on a New England ear. It 
is closely associated with all that is great in New- 
England history. It is hallowed by a thousand 
memories of obstacles overthrown, of dangers nobly 
braved, of sufferings unshrinkingly borne, in the ser¬ 
vice ol freedom and religion. It kindles at once the 
pride of ancestry, and inspires the deepest feelings of 
national veneration. It points to examples of valor 
in all its modes of manifestation—in the hall of de- 











Landing of Governor Winthrop at Salem, 1 C 30 . 
















































































































































t 


464 LANDING OF WINTHROP, AND SETTLEMENT OF BOSTON. 


Among the names of the pioneers in the 
settlement of this western world, pre-eminent¬ 
ly stands that of John Winthrop, the first 
governor of the colony of Massachusetts bay, 
to the memory of whose transcendant worth 
and self-sacriticing patriotism the Monument, 
the subject of the previous article, is proposed 
to be erected. Previous to the emigration to 
America under Governor Winthrop, attempts 
had been made to settle the country about 
the Massachusetts bay, but which succeeded 
to a very limited extent. The emigrants 
were comparatively few in numbers, and 
were intended more for the advantage of the 
fisheries and the fur trade, than for the pur¬ 
poses of permanent settlement. And most of 
them had either returned to England, or per¬ 
ished through the hardships encountered, or 
from disease incident to the climate of a wild, 
uncultivated region; and a small number of 
colonists at Salem,* and here and there an isola¬ 
ted family, without any effective organization, 
were all that remained of them. But in 1630, 
the Massachusetts Bay Company, under the 
direction of John Winthrop, obtained from 
Charles I. a confirmation of their patent pre¬ 
viously obtained from the council of Ply¬ 
mouth, granting them all the territory extend¬ 
ing in length from three miles north of the 
Merrimac river, to three miles south of Charles 
river, and in breadth, from the Atlantic to the 
Southern ocean. Preparations were imme¬ 
diately made for the transportation to this 
new world, of a body of emigrants, whose 
numbers, determined character, and moral and 
intellectual worth, should insure the perma- 

bate, on the field of battle, before the tribunal of 
power, at the martyr’s stake. It is a name which will 
never die out of New-England hearts. Wherever 
virtue resists temptation, wherever men meet death 
for religion’s sake, wherever the gilded baseness of 
the world stands abashed before conscientious prin¬ 
ciple, there will be the spirit of the Puritans. They 
have left deep and broad marks of their influence on 
human society. Their children, in all times, will rise 
up and call them blessed. A thousand witnesses of 
their courage, their industry, their sagacity, their in¬ 
vincible perseverance in well-doing, their love of free 
institutions, their respect for justice, their hatred of 
wrong, are all around us, and bear grateful evidence 
daily to their memory. W e can not forget them, 
even if we had sufficient baseness to wish it. Every 
spot of New-England earth has a story to tell of 
them; every cherished institution of New-England 
society bears the print of their minds. The strongest 
element of New-England character has been trans¬ 
mitted with their blood. So intense is our sense of 
affiliation with their nature, that we speak of them 
universally as our ‘fathers.’ And though their fame 
everywhere else were weighed down with calumny 
and hatred, though the principles for which they con¬ 
tended, and the noble deeds they performed, should 
become the scoff of sycophants and oppressors, and 
be blackened by the smooth falsehoods of the selfish 
and the cold, there never will be wanting hearts in 
New England to kindle at their virtues, nor tongues 
and pens to vindicate their name.” 

* Salem contained but seven houses in 1630. 


nent settlement of the colony. The success 
of their efforts was commensurate with their 
design. A nobler body of men than enlisted 
in this enterprise, under the lead of Winthrop, 
never left their native soil to colonize a new 
land. Among them were many persons of 
wealth and distinguished reputation, and mem¬ 
bers of illustrious and noble families.* Pre¬ 
vious to leaving England, John Winthrop 
was chosen governor, and Thomas Dudley 
deputy-governor. These, with eighteen as¬ 
sistants, appointed at the same time, and the 
body of the freemen who should settle in the 
new province, were to constitute a legislative 
and executive body in which all the rights of 
the colony were vested. On March 29, 1630, 
they sailed from Southampton, and, after a 
pleasant voyage, arrived in the harbor of Sa¬ 
lem on the 14th of June. It had beeffi their 
design to make Salem their principal settle¬ 
ment. But on landing there, Governor Win¬ 
throp and most of his party were not pleased 
with its situation; and after a brief period of 
rest from the fatigues of the voyage, they 
commenced a tour of exploration through the 
country, in search of more desirable locations. 
The engraving on the opposite page illus¬ 
trates the manner of their travelling through 
the then pathless wilderness. 

They established themselves in places about 
the bay, as their inclination or judgment di¬ 
rected them, and thus laid the foundations of 
Charlestown,Watertown, Dorchester, Roxbu- 
ry, and other towns, now forming the suburbs 
ot Boston. Governor Winthrop and a mate¬ 
rial portion of his company, first settled at 
Charlestown, on the north side of Charles 
river. Their first meeting for public worship 
was held under a tree. On the 30th of July 
the foundation of the first church in the set¬ 
tlement was laid at Charlestown,—and prepa¬ 
rations were being made for the erection of a 
house for the residence of the governor. But 
they soon began to feel the want of good wa¬ 
ter, for as yet nothing but a brackish spring, 
near the seashore, had been discovered. The 
weather had become oppressively hot, and 
many were taken sick. The colonists, as a 
consequence, were becoming dissatisfied with 
the place, and several of them went in search 
ot a better location. A fine spring of pure 
water was discovered on the peninsula on the 
opposite side of the river, and a party of the 

* “ What must we think,” says Hutchinson, “of 
persons ot rank and good circumstances in life, bid¬ 
ding a final adieu to all the conveniences and de¬ 
lights of England, their native country, and exposing 
themselves, their wives and children, to inevitable 
hardships and suffering, in a long voyage across the 
Atlantic, to land upon a most inhospitable shore, des¬ 
titute of any kind of building to secure them from the 
inclemency of the weather, and deprived of most 
sorts of food to which they had been always used at 
then former home ! — Chronicles of Massachusetts. 









The Early Settlers travelling through the Wilderness. 


! | colonists, crossed the river to examine it. The 
j only European resident of the peninsula at 
; this time, was William Blackstone, a puritan 
j clergyman, who lived in a cottage near the 
western extremity of the peninsula, since called 
Blackstone’s point. The}'' at once perceived 
the advantages the peninsula offered for set- 
j tlcment, and most of the colonists changed 
| their residence to that side of the river, and 
thither, also, the frame of the governor’s house 
was subsequently brought over and put up.* 

* Edward Johnson, one of the sufferers, tells us : 
<l The grief of this people was further increased by 
the sore sickness which befell among them, so that 
almost in every family lamentation, mourning, and 
wo, was heard ; and no fresh food to be had to cher¬ 
ish them. It would assuredly have moved the most 
locked-up affection to tears, no doubt, had they 
passed from one hut to another, and beheld the pite¬ 
ous case these people were in. And that which ad¬ 
ded to their present distress, was the want of fresh 
water. For although the place did afford plenty, 
yet, for the present, they could find but one spring, 
and that not to be come at but when the tide was 
down, which caused many to pass over to the south 
side of the river, where they afterward erected some 
other towns, and in October the governor, deputy, 
and assistants, held their second court, on the south 
J side of the river, where they began to build, holding 
j correspondency with Charlestown, as one and the 
same .”—Chronicles of Mtssacku&elts. 


The Indian name of the place was Shawmut.* 
The peninsula jutted boldly out into the 
broad bay of Massachusetts, and united by a 
narrow neck to the main land. It was six 
hundred acres in extent, sparsely covered 
with trees, and nearly divided by two creeks 
into three small islands, when the creeks were 
filled by the tides. Three rounded eminen¬ 
ces, swelling from the water’s brink, gave 
the peninsula the name, by the colonists, 
of Trimountain, from which has arisen the 
modern name of Tremont. The promontory, 
being nearly surrounded by water, divided 
into hills, and small in extent, was capable of 
an easy defence against the Indians. We 
have given, on the following page, a view of 
the peninsula as it appeared at the time Win- 
throp first visited it. The three eminences 
have since been named Copp’s, Fort, and 
Beacon hills. 

The Indians also had seen the advantages 
of this peninsula, and there resided here a 
venerable sachem, when first visited by the 
white man. The name of Trimountain was 
soon after changed to Boston, as a compliment 
to the Rev. John Cotton, who emigrated from 
Boston, in Lincolnshire, England. 

* That is, “sweet water.” 


landing of winthrop, and settlement of boston. 


46.5 


















































































466 


LANDING OF WINTHROP, AND SETTLEMENT OF BOSTON. 



Trimountain, or Boston in 1630. 


The first general court of Massachusetts 
was held at Boston, November 9, 1630. This 
court enacted that the freemen should in fu¬ 
ture elect representatives, who were to choose 
a governor and deputy from their own num¬ 
ber, and with these, possess power to make 
laws for the province, and appoint officers to 
execute them. To this measure the people 
gave their assent by a general vote ; but the 
court rescinded it early the next year, and 
enacted that the officers should be chosen by 
the whole body of freemen. 

The colonists began soon to experience the 
difficulties and hardships which the settlers 
of a new country are obliged to encounter. 
Their sufferings the first year were intense, 
and proved fatal to many among their num¬ 
ber. They were undoubtedly the more keenly 
felt, from having been accustomed to a life of 
ease, surrounded by all the comforts and lux¬ 
uries of civilized life. Before December two 
hundred perished. On the 24th of that month 
the cold became intense, and Charles river 
was frozen over. Such a Christmas eve they 
had never before known. Yet the inclemency 
of the weather continued to increase. They 
were destitute of provisions, and many were 
obliged to subsist on clams, mussels, and other 
shell-fish, and nuts and acorns supplied the 
place of bread. “ In these extremities,” says 
Cotton Mather, “ it was marvellous to see 
how helpful those good people were to one 
another, following the example of their most 
noble and liberal governor Winthrop, who 
made an equal distribution of what he had of 
his own stores among the poor, taking no 
thought for the morrow ! And on February 
5, 1631, when he was distributing the last 
handful of meal in the barrel, unto a poor 


man, distressed by the wolf at the door, at 
that instant they spied a ship arrived at the 
harbor’s mouth, laden with provisions for 
them all.”* 

As soon as the severity of the winter was 
sufficiently abated to admit of assemblies be¬ 
ing convened, the court proceeded to enact 
laws for their internal regulation. In 1632, 
the chiefs of several Indian tribes visited 
Governor Winthrop and sought his alliance. 
They were hospitably entertained by the 
governor, and entered respectively into trea¬ 
ties of amity with the colony. 

Governor Winthrop early inculcated the 
principles of temperance, by both example and 
recommendation. The benefits of his efforts 
were evinced, -when, in September, 1641, at 
a general training of twelve hundred men, 
not a single instance of intoxication or other 
immorality occurred. 

Including the people of Salem, Boston and 
vicinity numbered about two thousand in 1631, 
and in 1643, so great had been the emigrations 
from England that the inhabitants had in¬ 
creased to twenty-one thousand, and several 
towns were settled on the seacoast and inland 
as far as fifteen miles. The map on the fol¬ 
lowing page, of Boston and vicinity, as they 
appeared about this time, is a fac-simile copy 
from a map of New England, published in 
1667, and is believed to have been the first 
map ever engraved in this country. 

A fort -was soon built in Boston, on the em¬ 
inence facing the harbor, and it was from that 

The ship Lion, which had been despatched by 
Governor Winthrop to England for food, entered the 
harbor of Boston, February 5, 1631, laden with pro¬ 
visions, and having the Rev. Roger Williams on 
board, a passenger. 















































LANDING OF WINTHROP, AND SETTLEMENT OF BOSTON. 467 


Map of Boston and Vicinity, in 1667. 


time called Fort hill. At an early day, a for¬ 
tification was also made on an island three 
miles below the town, as a protection against 
foreigners, who were not of friendly views. 
There were then some piratical vessels on the 
coast, and the French, who were inimical to 
the English, wherever they might be, had 
some naval force in Acadie, now Nova Scotia. 

The place steadily increased, with few in¬ 
terruptions, till the time of the war of the 
revolution, in 1775, and various branches of 
commerce were pursued with great profit and 
advantage. The people suffered much under 
the tyrannical rule of Edmund Andros, in 
1686-’8,* and British revenue laws operated 

* In the year 1684, it was decided in the high court 
of chancery, that Massachusetts had forfeited her 
charter, and that henceforth her government should 
be placed in the hands of the king. This event 
was brought about chiefly by the instrumentality 
of Edmund Andros. This man had been sent over 
as a kind of spy on the colonies ; he made it his 
business to collect charges against the colonies, and 
return to England and excite the jealousy of the 
British government. In this maimer, the way was 
prepared for annulling the colonial charters. In De¬ 
cember, 1686, Andros arrived at Boston, being commis¬ 
sioned by King James, as governor-general, and vice- 
admiral, over New England, New York, and the 
Jerseys. Like all tyrants, Sir Edmund began his 
administration with professions of high regard for the 
’public welfare. In a few months, however, the pros¬ 
pect was changed. The press was restrained, lib¬ 
erty of conscience infringed, and exorbitant taxes 


oppressively; but the town still gradually 
grew and prospered. It suffered losses in 
the wars with France in 1754, &c., hut by 
enterprise, industry, and a laudable frugality, 
it advanced in wealth and population. The 
population in 1700, was about 7,000 ; in 1765, 
15,520 ; and at the breaking out of the war 
of the revolution, about 16,000. Boston was 
the headquarters of rebellion at this momen¬ 
tous period in our country’s history. In her 
streets were made the first fierce and des¬ 
perate struggles for liberty ; in her legislative 
halls, the first bold and manly opposition to 
the encroachments of the mother-country. It 
was one of her citizens, John Hancock, who 

were levied. The charters being vacated, it was 
pretended all titles to land were destroyed: farmers, 
therefore, who had cultivated their soil for half a cen¬ 
tury, were obliged to take new patents, giving large 
fees, or writs of intrusion were brought, and their 
lands sold to others. To prevent petitions or consul¬ 
tations, town meetings were prohibited, excepting 
once in a year for the choice of town offices. Lest 
cries oppression should reach the throne, ho forbade 
any to leave the country without permission from the 
government. 

The colonists had borne the imposition of Andros’s 
government about three years. Their patience was 
now exhausted. On the morning of April 18th, the 
public fury burst forth like a volcano. The inhabit¬ 
ants of Boston were in aims, and the people from the 
country poured in to their assistance. Andros and 
his associates fled to a fort; resistance was in vain, 
he was made a prisoner, and sent to England. 





















































































































468 


LANDING OF WINTHHOP, AND SETTLEMENT OF BOSTON. 


placed the first signature to that noble char¬ 
ter of American freedom, the Declaration of 
Independence. 

A view of Boston in 1776, is given on the 
opposite page. It is copied from an English 
engraving published in that year, and is be¬ 
lieved to be authentic. . The view is taken 
from a point on the road leading from llox- 
bury to Dorchester. 

In 1790, when the first census was taken 
under the present national government, then 
newly established, the population of Boston 
was only 18,038. In 1S00, it had risen to 
24,337; hi 1810, to 33,250 ; and in 1820, to 
43,298; showing a rate of increase, in each 
successive period, of about thirty-three and one 
third per cent. In 1830, however, the num¬ 
ber had advanced to 61,391 ; and in 1840, to 
93,383, showing a rate of increase not far 
from fifty per cent, in each of these two pe¬ 
riods. In 1845 the population was 114,366, 
an impetus being given by the many lines of 
railroads concentrating in Boston. The total 
population of Boston and its immediate vicini¬ 
ty, is now at least 250,000. This accelera¬ 
tion in the ratio of increase, from about one 
third to one half, is somewhat remarkable, 
not so much, perhaps, for its amount, as from 
its coincidence with that change in the policy 
of our national government, which was adopt¬ 
ed for the purpose of introducing and pro¬ 
moting domestic manufactures, through the 
agency of discriminating anti protecting du¬ 
ties on imports. Up to the period referred to, 
the capital and the enterprise of Boston had 
been chiefly employed in commerce and its 
dependent occupations; and though the change 
in question was most strenuously opposed by 
the great majority of the commercial classes 
of that city, yet, when it was once adopted, 
no community in the country embarked in 
manufactures more promptly and efficient¬ 
ly ; and the result may be seen in the striking 
coincidence between the date of that change 
which enlarged the field of enterprise for the 
intelligence, capital, labor, and skill of that 
community, and the commencement of a 
greatly-accelerated rate of increase in its 
population and wealth. 

In this progress of population, the original 
limits of the peninsula have been found much 
too narrow for the growing numbers ; and the 
city now consists of three distinct parts, 
namely, Boston of the peninsula—South Bos¬ 
ton, built along the westerly base and slopes 
of Dorchester heights, on the ground formerly 
belonging to the town of Dorchester, but an¬ 
nexed to peninsular Boston in 1804—and East 
Boston, built on an island in the harbor, for¬ 
merly called Noodle’s island, lying off against 
the northerly portion of the peninsula, and sep¬ 
arated from Charlestown and the mainland 


on that side, bv the waters of the Mystic river 
where they mingle with the harbor. It is 
connected with the mainland at Chelsea by a 
bridge six hundred feet long, and with the 
peninsula city by steam ferryboats, which 
start from each side every five minutes. East 
Boston has grown up wholly since 1833. It ! 
is the station of the Liverpool, or Canard line 
of steam packets, and the termination of the 
Eastern railroad. 

The town was governed by nine select¬ 
men, chosen by the people annually till 1822, 
when it became an incorporated city, and is 
now governed by a mayor, eight aldermen, 
and forty-eight common-councilmen, compo¬ 
sing two boards, who together are denomina¬ 
ted the city council. They are chosen an- 
| nually, the mayor and aldermen from the peo¬ 
ple at large, and the common-councilmen four 
from each of the twelve wards. 

The peninsular situation of Boston has pro¬ 
duced the necessity of an unusual number of 
bridges to connect the city with the surround¬ 
ing country. These are six in number, and 
of great length ; and though they are all of 
wood, and without any pretensions to architec¬ 
tural beauty, yet their great extent, number, 
and position, give them an imposing aspect, 
while their great utility and the train of ideas 
associated therewith, render them objects of 
lively interest. 

The streets of Boston, especially in the 
older quarters of the city, are rather irregular 
and narrow ; but no city in the Union is more 
substantially built, or contains a greater pro¬ 
portion of spacious and costly private man¬ 
sions ; and no city on the globe can boast of 
as high a degree of cleanliness. In this par¬ 
ticular, so important to the health, comfort,, 
and pleasantness of a large town, the streets, 
public areas, and private courts and yards, of 
Boston, are truly admirable, and a model for 
all other cities; and the simple means by 
which this desirable condition of things is se¬ 
cured, is an ordinance which forbids the in¬ 
habitants to throw offal, dirt, fragments, or 
filth of auy sort, vegetable or animal, upon 
the ground in the streets, or in private enclo¬ 
sures, hut requires all these things to he put 
into casks, or vessels of some kind, and these 
are regularly removed by the scavengers. 
Thus, the frequent handling of this noisome 
rubbish, which is the obvious and unavoida¬ 
ble consequence of permitting them to be cast 
upon the ground at all, is avoided, and the 
removal of them is rendered complete and 
certain. These simple regulations being en¬ 
forced, the city is kept clean, sweet, and 
wholesome; and that, too, with far less ex¬ 
pense of time, labor, and money, than is pos¬ 
sible in any other way. This management 
I saves to Boston, every year, many thousands 




































View of Boston, in 177G. taken from the road to Dorchester 






























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































470 LANDING OF WINTHROP, AND SETTLEMENT OF BOSTON. 


of dollars in her annual expenditures ; and its 
good sense and great economy are so palpable 
as to make it really surprising that it is not 
the settled system of every populous town. 

Boston harbor, commodious, deep, easy of 
access, and yet easily defended, is one of the 
best in the world. The approach to the in¬ 
ner harbor, immediately in front of the city, 
is, for a short distance and immediately under 
the batteries of Fort Independence, by a chan¬ 
nel so narrow that two large ships could 
scarcely pass abreast, while within, it spreads 
into a noble haven, spacious enough for five 
hundred ships of any size to ride securely. 

In commerce and navigation, Boston ranks 
as the second city in the Union, standing next 
to New York, and possessing a tonnage 
amounting to nearly or quite 300,000 tons. 
The capital employed in foreign trade is about 
$12,000,000. The number of banks, in 1847, 
was 25, with a capital of $18,000,000, and 
28 insurance companies, with an aggregate 
capital of $7,000,000. 

The total amount of capital employed in 
manufactures is upward of $4,000,000; but 
a far larger amount of Boston capital is in¬ 
vested in cotton and woollen manufactures in 
Lowell and other places. 

The Cochituate aqueduct, for the introduc¬ 
tion of pure and wholesome water into the 
city has been recently completed, and this 
important epoch in the history of Boston was 
celebrated in the most brilliant and enthusias¬ 
tic manner. Its importance as contributing 
to health, cleanliness, purity, and a thousand 
other general and useful purposes, can scarcely 
be overrated. Lake Cochituate, from which 
the water is brought, lies about eighteen miles 
from Boston, in the towns of Natick, Fra¬ 
mingham, and Wayland, Middlesex county, 
Massachusetts. This lake covers an area of 
G60 acres, and drains a surface of over 11,000 
acres. Its depth, in some places is 70 feet, 
and its elevation above common tide at Bos¬ 
ton is 124 feet. The estimated expense was 
$1,600,000, but it cost over $3,000,000. 

Besides the aqueduct itself, the great fea¬ 
tures of this enterprise are the Beacon hill 
reservoir, in Boston; the reservoir on Dor¬ 
chester heights, South Boston; the great res¬ 
ervoir and gate-house in Brookline, from 
which the water of the lake is brought to the 
street mains and reservoir in Boston, in two 
iron pipes, thirty-four inches in diameter, and 
extending nearly four miles, and which are 
capable of delivering daily three millions of 
gallons of water; the Charles river bridge at 
Newton Lower falls, which is built on three 
arches; the Pipe chamber in the vicinity, and 
the Road bridge, which is built on a single 
arch, and said by all to be a most splendid 
piece of masonry; the waste wier, four miles 


beyond the Lower falls, where the aqnednct 
passes over a considerable stream; and finally, 
the Gatehouse, a granite edifice at the lake. 

The reservoir on Beacon hill covers an 
area of 40,000 square feet, and will hold 
3,000,000 of gallons of water. The level will 
be six and a half feet above the level of the 
floor of the statehouse. This reservoir, which 
will throw a jet of water to a great height, from 
most parts of the city, is intended for a reserve 
fountain, in case of any accident to the great 
pipes. The reservoir on Dorchester heights 
contains an area of 70,000 feet, and is capable 
of delivering 7,000,000 of gallons per day. 
This is also intended for a reserved fountain, 
and the two reservoirs together will dispense 
10,000,000 of gallons of water a day. This 
quantity, it has well been said, will supply 
more than sixteen gallons a day, for five days, 
to every man, woman, and child, in the city. 

The fall of the water from the reservoir in 
Brookline, is two feet to the mile, and the 
level of the reservoir is consequently eight 
feet higher than that of the great reservoir in 
Boston. This reservoir covers thirty acres, 
and the water will be in some places twenty 
feet deep, and will average fifteen feet deep, 
thereby constituting a perfect safeguard for 
the city, if any accident happens to the con¬ 
duit above. 

Boston has always been conspicuous for its 
attention and liberality in supporting public 
schools, where the children of all ranks of the 
people are instructed. Even for those who 
wish to study Latin and Greek, or the higher 
branches of mathematics and natural philoso¬ 
phy, as well as the English language, arith¬ 
metic, and geography, institutions are pro¬ 
vided ; but in the higher seminaries a certain 
age and progress are necessary for admission. 

Could the old sachem, the blue smoke of 
whose council-fire was curling upward to the 
skies, from the site of Boston, when first vis¬ 
ited by the European, be permitted a brief 
return to earth, with what feelings would he 
look upon the present splendor of his ancient 
domain ? What would be his sensations to 
find it thronged with nearly a quarter of a 
million of human beings—to find the seat of 
his humble wigwam now occupied by com¬ 
modious warehouses and stately dwellings, 
studded at frequent intervals with minarets 
and steeples, and glittering domes-—to find 
the broad bay, where glided his birchen ca¬ 
noe, now ploughed by giant steamships, and 
white with the sails of every land, and its 
shores lined with a dense forest of towering 
masts ?— 

“ Would not bis altered nature 
Rejoice with rapture high, 

At the changed and glorious prospect 
That now would meet his eye V’ 











GIRARD COLLEGE, PHILADELPHIA. 


471 



View of Girard College, Philadelphia. 


GIRARD COLLEGE FOR ORPHANS, 

The site appropriated by Mr. Girard, for 
tlie purposes of this college was formerly 
known as Peel Hail; it is situated on the 
Ridge road about a mile north of the city lim¬ 
its, and occupies a tract of land half a mile in 
length by an eighth of a mile in width, sur¬ 
rounded by a spacious street sixty feet wide, 
called College avenue. The main entrance 
is at the head of Corinthian avenue, a street 
of eighty feet in width running north from 
Coates’ street west of Third street from 
Schuylkill. The street represented on the 
plate is College avenue, running westward 
from the Ridge road. 

The buildings consist of the main college 
edifice, which will be entirely devoted to edu¬ 
cational purposes, and two spacious out build¬ 
ings on each side, all of which are composed 
of marble. 

The main building is a composition in the 
Greek Corinthian order of architecture ; it 
stands parallel with the city streets, immedi¬ 
ately in front of Corinthian avenue, and cov¬ 
ers an area of one acre of ground, being 181 
feet wide and 2391 feet long. The body of 
the building, which is 111 feet wide by 169 
feet long, has eight columns on each end and 
eleven on each side (counting the corner col¬ 
umns both ways), which makes thirty-four 
columns in all. The colonnade stands on a 
marble platform seven and a half feet high, 
159 feet wide, and 217f feet long, approached 
on all sides by eleven marble steps. 

Each of the bases of the columns measures 
nine and a quarter feet in diameter, and the 
shafts six feet at the bottom and five feet at 


the top; the capitals are nine feet high and 
ten feet wide on the face of the abacus or up¬ 
per member; the whole height, including base, 
shaft, and capital, is fifty-five feet. These 
columns are composed of large blocks of white 
marble, some of which weigh fifteen tons. 
Each shaft is beautifully wrought into twenty- 
four deep flutes, and the carving of the capi¬ 
tals is of the richest and most ornate charac¬ 
ter. Many suppose that these capitals were 
imported, but such is not the case ; they were 
all wrought on the college-grounds out of 
American marble, and the whole building is, 
in fact, a specimen of American skill and 
American materials. 

The entablature, or the entire mass which 
rests on the columns, is seventeen feet high; 
it consists of an enriched cornice projecting 
nearly five feet, and other mouldings finely 
proportioned and beautifully wrought. Each 
end of the building is embellished with a ped¬ 
iment rising twenty and a half feet above the 
horizontal cornice, thus making the entire 
elevation of the apex of the roof above the 
ground about one hundred feet. 

The ceiling of the portico is being con¬ 
structed of immense cast-iron plates, richly 
embellished with panels and ornamented 
mouldings. 

The roof is composed of marble, and is one 
of the most interesting portions of the work. 
We shall describe it in the words of the archi¬ 
tect to the building committee, in his ninth 
annual report. “ It consists of marble tiles 
four and a half feet long, four feet wide, and 
two and, three fourths inches thick; every su¬ 
perior tile overlaps the one below it, and the 
junction of every two adjoining tiles is cov- 




















































































































































































472 THE WINSLOW HOUSE. 


ered with a strip of marble four and a half 
feet in length, ten inches in width, and six 
inches in thickness. 

“ To support these tiles, brick walls of nine 
inches in thickness are built three feet nine 
inches apart, across the whole surface of the 
upper arches, from side to side of the build¬ 
ing ; the top of each wall is formed with a 
declivity from the ridge to the eaves, corre¬ 
sponding with the pitch of the pediments. 

‘The large tiles are laid on these walls, 
beginning at the eaves and extending to the 
ridge, each superior tile overlapping the one 
below it six inches. The sides of these tiles 
are elevated an inch and a half above the gen¬ 
eral surface to prevent the water from running 
into the joints at their junction ; and the nar¬ 
row tiles which cover these joints are hol¬ 
lowed out so as to embrace the projection of 
each contiguous tile. 

“All the joints and overlappings are so 
formed as to prevent the admission of water 
either from the force of beating rains or from 
capillary attraction ;—at the same time their 
design is such as to admit of their being laid 
without coming actually in contact with each 
other, thus rendering them free to expand and 
contract with the various changes of temper¬ 
ature without producing leaks; the whole is, 
therefore, rendered water-tight without de¬ 
pending at all on cement. 

“ The plan of supporting the tiles on walls 
affords access at all times to the under side of 
every tile ; and in order to facilitate their in¬ 
spection, openings are left in the walls oppo¬ 
site each skylight, by which a portion of 
light will be admitted into every compart¬ 
ment. 

“ The gutters are formed of flagstone and 
bricks laid in hydraulic cement, and securely 
covered with heavy milled lead. These gut¬ 
ters are so constructed as to prevent any wa¬ 
ter from running over the eaves ; by this plan 
the cornices will not be liable to the mutila¬ 
tion and premature decay to which they 
would otherwise have been subjected, and 
which mars many of the noblest structures of 
ancient as well as modern times. 

“ The conductors for carrying the water 
from the roof consist of heavy cast-iron pipes 
of ten inches in diameter, securely put to¬ 
gether and embedded in walls of the building.” 

The interior of this building is divided into 
three stories of twenty-five feet in height, 
and each story into four rooms of fifty feet 
square, with a vestibule at each end of twen¬ 
ty-six feet by the width of the building. The 
first and second stories are vaulted with groin 
arches, and the third story with domes sup¬ 
ported on pendentives springing from the cor¬ 
ners of the rooms ; this story is lighted by 
skylights sixteen feet in diameter. 


All the floors and stairways are composed 
of marble, so that there is no wood employed 
in the construction of the building except for 
doors and windows. The stairways ascend 
from the vestibules in each of the four cor¬ 
ners of the building, and present an exceed¬ 
ingly light and graceful appearance ; they are 
embellished with beautiful cast-iron balus¬ 
trades, starting from polished marble newels. 

The doors of entrance are on the north and 
and south fronts opening into the vestibules; 
they are each sixteen feet wide by thirty-two 
feet high in the clear; the lower section of 
the panelling alone is made to open. Each 
vestibule is vaulted from an entablature sup¬ 
ported on eight columns and eight antac, or 
square pillars attached to the walls, making 
forty-eight columns and forty-eight antre in 
all the stories; the shafts of these columns 
are each composed of a single block of marble. 
The order in the first story is Ionic, in the sec¬ 
ond a modified Corinthian, and in the third a 
similar order rather lighter and more ornate. 
Each stairway is crowned with a richly pan¬ 
elled pendentive dome ceiling lighted with a 
skylight of ten feet in diameter. 

The four out buildings are each fifty-two 
feet wide, one hundred and twenty-five feet 
long, and three stories high, with a basement 
of seven feet above the ground. The eastern¬ 
most building is divided into four separate pri¬ 
vate residences for the president nnd profes¬ 
sors, and the remaining three are designed for 
the residence and accommodation of the pupils 
and their attendants. 


THE WINSLOW HOUSE, MARSHFIELD. 

This venerable relic of the days of the 
Pilgrims, is situated on the Winslow farm, 
now the property, we believe, of the Hon. Dan¬ 
iel Webster, in Marshfield, Massachusetts. 
It is in the southern part of the town, on 
the borders of the ancient town of Duxburv, 
and about ten miles from the more ancient 
town of Plymouth, where the Pilgrim Fa¬ 
thers first stepped upon the sacred Rock, and 
about thirty miles from Boston. The house 
is more than a century and a half old, and is 
of course built in a most antique style of ar¬ 
chitecture. It was formerly the resilience of 
Colonel John Winslow, a great-grandson of 
Governor Edward Winslow, one "of t hat no¬ 
ble party who came over in the May-Flower. 
He died at Hingham, in April. 1774 , in the 
seventy-second year of his age, and the 
Winslow name has become .extinct in the 
venerable town of their adoption. 













The Ancient Winslow House, at Marshfield, Mass. 

































































































































































































































































































































































































































































MERCHANTS’ EXCHANGE, NEWYORK. 

Wall street is known, the world over, 
as the mart of the money-changers in New 
York. It is, indeed, chiefly filled with bank¬ 
ers and brokers, who rejoice in fingering bank¬ 
notes, half joes, eagles, and dollars, the former 
of whom are happy to receive your money 
on deposite and accommodate you with a loan 
at a moderate discount, and the latter of whom 
are ready to negotiate a note for a reasonable 
advance, or to change uncurrent into current 
money at a slight charge. But there are no 
inconsiderable numbers of other gentry, who 
would be happy to acquaint themselves with 
your purse, as assurers, lawyers, notaries, spec¬ 
ulators, stock-jobbers, packet-officers, money- 
collectors, customhouse officers, news-mong¬ 
ers, and agents in any line whatever. 

The whole street is immeasurably active in 
the general pursuit of money. The business 
of every house relates to money , notes or 
stock; in every group the subject of conver¬ 
sation is money, notes, or stock ; the life, mo¬ 
tion, and being, of every man in Wall street 
is money, notes, or stock. Everything is done 
by exchange, whether it be an exchange of 
money, of notes, of bonds, of stock, of estates, 
of opinions and information, or of nods and 
winks significantly appertaining to that mode 
of making money, called speculation. Here 
fortunes are won in an hour, and here too they 
are lost as soon. Gold is here the beacon of 
hope, and the mainspring of action; but also 
too often does it prove the ignus-fatuu§ of 
deluded adventurers, and the siren of evil and 
destruction. 

Wall street is also the centre of commer¬ 
cial information and general news. Hither 
all citizens who are infected with the cacoethus 
audiendi , flock, to learn how the world wags, 
as well as to proclaim such items of intelli¬ 
gence as may have reached their understand¬ 
ings alone. The merchants particularly col¬ 
lect here in great numbers, at mid-day, to 
confer together upon the objects of trade, and 
to survey the general indications of the com¬ 
mercial atmosphere. For the greater con¬ 
venience of these daily assemblages, which 
have become very necessary and important, 
a building has been particularly erected, call¬ 
ed the Merchants’ Exchange, and devoted to 
that object. 

This ediflce, a view of which is given oppo¬ 
site, embraces all the ground between William 
and Wall streets, Exchange place and Han¬ 
over street, covering the entire block. It has 
a somewhat confined situation, and shows to 
less advantage than if it were surrounded by 
open grounds. It is of the Ionic order of ar¬ 
chitecture and is built in the most substantial 
form, of blue Quincy granite. The dimen¬ 


sions are one hundred and ninety-eight feet 
on Wall street, one hundred and seventy-one 
on William street, one hundred and forty-four 
on Hanover street, and one hundred and nine¬ 
ty-six feet on Exchange place. It is seventy- 
seven feet high to the top of the cornice, and 
one hundred and twenty-four feet from the 
foundation wall to the top of the dome. 

In front, on Wall street, is a recessed por¬ 
tico, with eighteen massive Grecian-Ionic 
columns, thirty-eight feet high, and four feet 

four inches in diameter, each formed of a 
1 7 
solid block of stone. It required the best ap¬ 
plication of the mechanical powers, aided by 
horses, to raise these enormous pillars. The 
process of obtaining such immense masses from 
the quarry is curious. The quarry whence 
they were brought is in the side of a hill ; 
the ends of a block of granite are cleared, a 
row of holes are drilled in a straight line, 
wedges are inserted, and an enormous piece 
of stone weighing from three hundred to four 
hundred tons is thus wedged ofl' with ease. 
Each of the columns for the portico weighed 
about ninety tons in the rough, and five men 
with a simple apparatus drew it out of the 
quarry in two or three days to the place where 
the workmen stood ready to hammer-dress it. 
The fair market price of one of these columns 
is $6,000; but the Exchange company paid 
only $3,000 for them, delivered in New York. 
These columns with but one exception (that 
of a church at St. Petersburgh), are the lar¬ 
gest in the world, and each of them, inclu¬ 
ding the base, cap, and shaft, weighs forty- 
three tons. The exchange room or rotunda 
is a most magnificent apartment, in the centre 
of the building. The height of it to the 
spring of the dome is fifty-one feet, and above 
this the dome is thirty feet high ; the whole 
is surmounted by a lantern sky-light thirty- 
seven feet diameter, and six feet high. The 
floor is to be of fine marble—its diameter is 
eighty feet in the clear, and one hundred feet 
in the recesses, forming an area of seven thou¬ 
sand square feet, which it is estimated will 
hold three thousand persons. The dome is 
partly supported by eight polished Italian 
marble columns with Corinthian capitals, ex¬ 
ecuted in Italy ; these are forty-one feet in 
height, including the cap and base, and four 
feet eight inches in diameter. There are also 
many rooms for the accommodation of public 
and private offices. When it is recollected 
that this fine building has been erected in the 
place of an elegant exchange building, burnt 
in the great fire of 1835, it is a matter of con¬ 
gratulation that it is of materials absolutely in¬ 
combustible, no wood, but the doors and win¬ 
dows, having been used in its construction. 
The cost of the building, including the ground, 
was about two millions of dollars" 















The Merchant’s Exchange, Wall Street, New York. 









































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































— .- ■ - .- - ■■ ~ -—---V 

476 THE HOTEL DE VILLE, PARIS. 


THE HOTEL DE VILLE, PARIS. 

The Hotel de Ville, or town-hall of Par¬ 
is, is a massive structure, situated in the 
Place de Greve; and, like all ancient public 
buildings, the stirring events of past days and 
years are associated with its history. The 
plan of the present edifice was presented to 
H enri II. by Dominique Boccardo, an Italian 
architect, in 1549, but many alterations and 
additions have since been made to it. Omit¬ 
ting any description of the exterior (a fine 
view of which is given in the engraving) we 
proceed to notice the courts and saloons. 

The central court is approached from the 
western front by a flight of steps, and is sur¬ 
rounded by an arched Ionic portico. In the 
centre stands the pedestrian statue of Louis 
XIV"., representing the monarch clothed in 
Grecian armor. The marble tablets around 
the frieze were inscribed with the principal 
events of his life, but time, assisted by the 
hand of violence, has nearly effaced these. 
The northern and southern courts are con¬ 
nected with this by flights of stairs, and are 
adorned with Corinthian and composite col¬ 
umns. 

The Salle de Danse is a magnificent saloon, 
in the Corinthian order, the ceiling being divi¬ 
ded into square compartments. 

Below this is the Salle de St. Jean , of 
equal splendor with the former saloon, adorned 
with Doric columns detached ; it occupies the 
whole space between the intermediate eastern 
pavilions, which are used for the Octroi Mu¬ 
nicipal , and other public offices. 

The Grand Salle , or Salle du Trone , oc¬ 
cupies the whole of the central portion of the 
building. The fireplaces are of white mar¬ 
ble, elaborately ornamented with recumbent 
figures, in the style of the times of Henri IV. 
Armorial bearings and escutcheons adorn the 
ceiling. 

The Salle d'Introduction, containing two 
statues of Henri IV., and the Salle de Jen , 
come next, the latter conducting to the Salle 
de Bal , a grand and magnificent apartment, 
as regards both extent and height, and splen¬ 
dor of furniture; devoted to entertainments, 
fetes, balls, and banquets. There is also a 
spacious dining-room, of sufficient capacity to 
seat a thousand guests. Underneath this are 
extensive kitchens. There has, in addition to 
these, lately been constructed a suite of apart¬ 
ments, worthy the residence of either a king 
or a president. 

The Hotel de Ville has been the theatre 
of action of the most thrilling and important 
events in the history of Franee. In the early 
part of the reign of Louis XIV., an assem¬ 
bly was here convened, to deliberate on the 
propriety of inviting the court, the queen- 


mother, and her son, to return to Paris, from 
which they had fled on the occasion of the . 
Prince de Cond'e the leader of the Fronde , 
having assumed a position hostile to the Car¬ 
dinal Mazarin. The officers and soldiers of 
the bold and during Conde, filled the Place de 
Greve, intermingled with the people, and 
compelling all passers-by to wear a few pie¬ 
ces of straw, the badge of partisanship. At 
the moment, while a letter was being read to ! 
the assembly from the king, the prince, the 
due d’Orleans, and their partisans, entered the 
hall. The prince returned thanks to the cit¬ 
izens for opening the gates of Paris to his ar- 
lity. As the king’s letter contained no prom¬ 
ise of the dismission of the offensive minister, 
Mazarin, an angry discussion ensued; the as¬ 
sembly was broken up; the Prince de Conde 
accused the members of being partisans of 
Mazarin, and declared that they should not 
depart. A rush was made for the door, but 
the guards had closed it; a volley of musket¬ 
ry was fired upon the windows, fagots were 
placed before the entrance, and fired to pre¬ 
vent the escape of the inmates. The work 
of death commenced, and many were slain ; 
a few escaped, among whom was the gov¬ 
ernor of Paris, disguised as a priest. 

At the first outbreak of the revolution of 
1798, the Hotel de Ville was rendered mem¬ 
orable by another scene, enacted within its 
massive walls. Louis XVI., was here re¬ 
ceived and welcomed with acclamations— 
alas ! how soon to be changed to the dismal 
notes of death ! Louis, in return for the ac¬ 
clamations of the people, appeared at the 
window, to express his sense of their appro¬ 
bation. With the cap of liberty on his head, 
and wearing the national cockade, he address¬ 
ed the thousands assembled around the build¬ 
ing ; and was heard to say, with visible emo¬ 
tion, “ My people may always depend upon 
my regard and affection .” How truly, in¬ 
deed, have the words of divine inspiration 
proved to be the only true guide : “ Place not 
your trust in princes .” 

But a few months had elapsed after the 
visit of Louis, when a man appeared at the 
Hotel de Ville, at the mention of whose 
name humanity shudders : the hero of the 
“ reign of terror,” Robespierre, who was con¬ 
ducted thence to his execution in the Place de 
Greve. 

In the year 1830, the populace of Paris 
rose en masse , to dethrone Charles X.; and, 
after three days’ struggle, this monarch fled 
from his palace and his capital. A provisional 
government held its sittings at the Hotel de 
Ville. Their choice fell upon Louis Philippe, 
due d'Orleans. He was pronounced “the 
citizen-king;” and from the same window of 
the same room whence Louis XVI., addressed 

































View of the Hotel de Ville, Paris 




























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































CATACOMBS OF PARIS. 


47 S 


the people, Louis Philippe addressed a suc¬ 
ceeding; generation ot 4 renchmen, and told 
them, that in him they beheld “ the best of all 
republics /” And from the pavilion of the 
Hotel de Ville, was first unfurled the tri-col¬ 
ored flag, indicating the triumph of the peo- 
ple. 

Within the last year, 1848, another provis¬ 
ional government has held its sittings within 
the walls of this renowned structure (the 
monument of the fall of royalty) and pro¬ 
claimed France a republic. We conclude by 
noticing the progress of the seven deputies to 
the place where they were to prepare the 
foundation of a new government. “ The 
nearer,’’ says the historian, “ they penetrated 
the heart of the city, the more animated were 
the applauses and sympathies which greeted 
them. The crowd at each step became more 
numerous, aad surrounded them with cries of 
* Vive la Liberie !' What enthusiasm hailed 
their arrival at the municipal palace —the 
Hotel, de Ville !” 




CATACOMBS OF PARIS. 

The origin of the great catacombs, or re¬ 
ceptacles for the dead, attached to the French 
capital, is in every point of view curious and 
interesting. Previously to the latter end of 
last century, the burial-places 'of the city 
were in a condition at once disgusting and de¬ 
structive to human health. One of the early 
French kings had bestowed a piece of the 
royal suburban grounds on the inhabitants as 
a place of interment; and this spot, the site 
subsequently of the church of the Innocents, 
continued for nine or ten centuries to serve as 
the sole or principal receptacle for the dead 
in Paris. Not only was this the case but 
the cemetery was also applied to its purposes 
in a manner unusually dangerous. Large 
pits were formed, each about thirty feet deep 
and twenty feet square, and into these coffins 
were lowered, one tier above another, with¬ 
out any intervening earth, until the pits were 
filled. Each was then covered with a thin 
layer of soil. The common number of bod¬ 
ies cast into every excavation amounted to 
from twelve to fifteen hundred ; and, in the 
thirty years preceding 1780, nearly ninety 
thousand bodies had been thus deposited in 
the charnel-holes of the Innocents. Once in 
every thirty or forty years, it had been cus¬ 
tomary to execute the frightful task of open¬ 
ing and emptying these pits ; but, in the case 
of great numbers of the older ones, this task 
had long ceased to be fulfilled, and they ac¬ 
cordingly remained unmoved, though so 


choked up with the matter of corruption as 
to rise above the level of the adjoining streets, 
and seriously to affect the air in the ground- 
flats of the houses. It was supposed that, 
from the time of Philip Augustus, more than 
1,200,000 bodies in all, had been interred in 
the cemetery of the Innocents; and as the 
mouldering bones, even when the pits were 
cleaned out, were merely conveyed to an 
arched gallery surrounding the burial-ground, 
it might be said that some portion of all that 
had ever lain there still remained. 

When all men of science and sense were 
beginning to recognise the necessity of reme¬ 
dying this evil, another cause of peril and 
alarm chanced to agitate the city of Paris; 
but, fortunately, the one was found capable 
of serving as a remedy for the other. Quar¬ 
ries of stone had been opened in the immedi¬ 
ate vicinity of Paris, at an early period of its 
history, and had been wrought, to a large ex¬ 
tent in the course of successive ages, to sup¬ 
ply materials for the increasing city. In 
consequence, a vague notion existed among 
the inhabitants, that the city was considera¬ 
bly undermined. Little attention was paid 
to the matter till 1774, when some alarming 
shocks and falls of houses aroused the fears 
of the government. A regular survey took 
place 4 and the result was the frightful discov¬ 
ery, that the churches, palaces, and almost 
all the southern parts of the city of Paris, 
rested upon immense irregular excavations, 
and stood the greatest risk of ere long sink¬ 
ing into them. A special commission was 
immediately appointed to take the proper ! 
steps for averting such a catastrophe; and 
the necessity of such a commission was made 
strikingly apparent on the first day of its op¬ 
erations, by an accident in the rue d’Enfer. 

A house in that street sunk down in an in¬ 
stant, eight-and-twenty metres below the lev¬ 
el of its courtyard. 

When all the labyrinths of the quarries I 
were inspected, and plans taken of them, the 
alarm of the Parisians was far from being 
abated. Every quarrier had habitually work¬ 
ed, it appeared, where he chose or where he 
could; and, in many cases, excavation was 
found below excavation, the whole running 
to almost interminable lengths, while the pil¬ 
lars that had been left were found, in almost 
all cases to be totally insufficient to bear per¬ 
manently the enormous weight above. In 
various instances, the roof had sunk consid¬ 
erably, and in others, large masses had actu¬ 
ally fallen, rendering it almost marvellous 
that the city should not long before have be¬ 
come a mass of ruins. The great aqueduct 
of Arcueil, which passed over this scene of 
hidden peril, had in reality suffered some 
shocks, and if the risk had not been timeous- 





















r--—---- 

CATACOMBS 


ly discovered, it can scarcely be doubted that 
the ultimate issue would have been the char¬ 
ging of the quarries with water and the sap¬ 
ping of the city. The commission began its 
work of cure, aided by a very large body of 
workmen. Great pains were taken in cutting 
galleries from labyrinth to labyrinth, to as- 
| certain the extent of the mischief, and in 
I vaulting and propping every part that seemed 
j to require such support. 'The extent of the 
i quarries, however, rendered the labor gigan- 
| tic, and, long ere matters were permanently 
i put in order, the happy idea of converting 
| these excavations into receptacles for the ref- 
I use of the charnel-house of the Innocents, 
had occurred to M. Lenoir, the inspector of 
the city police. The suggestion was made 
j public, and approved of by the council of 
state, who, in 1785, decreed the opening of 
the charnel-pits of the Innocents, and the re¬ 
moval of the bones of the dead to the quar¬ 
ries. The first step was to make an entrance 
into the quarries by a flight of seventy-seven 
steps, and to sink a shaft from the surface, 
down which the relics of mortality might be 
thrown. At the same time, the workmen 
below walled off that portion of the excava¬ 
tion designed for the great charnel-house, and 
properly supported the roof. On the 7th of 
April, 1786, all the preparations being com¬ 
pleted, the new catacombs were consecrated 
with much solemnity, and on that same day 
the work of removal began. Bones and par¬ 
tially-preserved coffins were brought by night 
to the shaft in funeral cars, followed by robed 
priests chanting the service for the dead. 
The nature of the task, the glare of the tor¬ 
ches, and, above all, the hollow rattling and 
echoing of skeletons, bones, and broken 
wood, in their fall down the shaft, sent back, 
as the sounds were, by the vaults below, ren¬ 
dered the whole scene peculiarly impressive 
and awful. 

But the relics of human beings, in their 
ordinary condition, were not the most remark¬ 
able part of the materials transferred from 
one site to another on this occasion. The 
pits of the Innocents exhibited immense 
masses of the soft white substance called ad- 
ipocire, into which the bodies had been con¬ 
verted, and which had been noticed under 
similar circumstances at former periods. Ad- 
ipocire had some of the mingled qualities of 
wax and tallow, being capable of use in the 
manufacture of candles. Respect, however, 
for what had once been the human body, of 
course dictated the consignment of the mass¬ 
es of adipocire, found in the pits of the Inno¬ 
cents, to the new catacombs under the plaine 
de Mont-Rouge. 

The catacombs of Paris received in suc¬ 
cession the contents of the smaller cemeter- 


OF PARIS. 479 


ies of Saint-Eustaclie and Saint-Etienne-des- 
Grcs, after those mentioned. There, too, the 
victims of the revolution found a ready and 
roomy abode; and when the popular fury 
demolished a number of the churches, the 
bones lodged in them after the old fashion, 
were removed to the same great receptacle. 
Between 1792 and 1808, the catacombs re¬ 
ceived the exhumations of twelve other mi¬ 
nor cemeteries in and around Paris. Be¬ 
tween 1808 and 1811, new excavations, made 
in the cemetery of the Innocents for the pas¬ 
sage of a canal, rendered it necessary to con¬ 
vey a large quantity of additional relics to 
the catacombs ; and a few other churches 
and cemeteries were emptied into them in 
the course of the next few years. Having 
thus made use of the quarries, and poured 
into them in all an immense quantity of hu¬ 
man remains, the Parisians did not adopt 
the catacombs, as perhaps they might wisely 
have done, as their general burving-place. 
On the contrary, they created various new 
cemeteries above ground, though under com¬ 
paratively excellent regulations, as the fa¬ 
mous Pere la Chaise and Montmartre suffi¬ 
ciently testify. 

The revolutionary disturbances impeded 
the operations still requisite to render the 
vast quarries and catacombs of Paris stable 
and safe. The ordinary vaults became, con¬ 
sequently, full of cracks, water filtrated 
through the roofs, and fresh downfalls seem¬ 
ed impending. The air was rendered nox¬ 
ious by the want of circulation. In 1810, 
M. de Thury, the architect, began to make 
new repairs. He built new pillars, and 
formed channels for removing the water. Air 
was introduced simply but effectively, by lu¬ 
ting the upper half of a broken bottle, with 
the neck outermost, into the wells which 
supply the houses above with water, and 
which had been made to descend through the 
quarries to the ground below, like so many 
round towers. By uncorking these bottle¬ 
necks, air is let in at will. As regarded the 
catacombs, the bones lay in heaps thirty 
yards high in some places, and the workmen 
had to make galleries through them, and pile 
them along the walls in regular order. Such 
as exhibited disease were arranged into an 
osteological cabinet. In short, order and se¬ 
curity were, for the first time, truly introdu¬ 
ced into the arrangements of this subterrane¬ 
an world. 

The catacombs of Paris remain, generally 
speaking, nearly in the same condition as left 
by M. de Thury, though various minor im¬ 
provements have been added, to render the 
place more interesting to visitants. Three 
staircases, of which the best known is that 
of the Burriere d’Enfer, conduct the modern 




































4S0 


SCENEItY IN ENGLAND. 


visiter into the vaults. On entering, a black 
; line is to be noticed traversing the centre of 
| the passages, and forming a guide through 
' them, which the most familiarized visiter 
! can not safely neglect. On the right and 
j left of the first gallery, that of the Rue St. 
! Jacques, several others are seen stretching 
away under the plain of Mont-Rouge. The 
visiter can not penetrate far, until he sees 
startling marks of the fall of rocks, and be¬ 
holds stalactites hanging down in abundance 
j from the walls. In the gallery under the 
Hue St. Jacques, is also seen the great 
aqueduct of Arcueil, with its supporting 
columns. 

By various sinuosities, the visiter arrives at 
the gallery of Port Mahon, so called from a 
sculptured view of the taking of that fort 
executed by Decure, an invalid soldier. He 
j perished there by a fall of the rocks, while 
the chisel was yet in his hand. A fountain 
was here discovered by the workmen, and a 
I basin made for their use, with a small sub¬ 
terraneous aqueduct. It was first called the 
Well of Lethe, and was inscribed with a 
couplet from Virgil: but a scriptural quota¬ 
tion, more appropriate to the place, now 
marks its site : “ Whosoever drinketh of this 
water, shall thirst again; but whosoever 
drinketh of the water I shall give him, shall 
never thirst; but the water that I shall give 
him, shall be to him a well of water spring¬ 
ing up into everlasting life.” It contains a 
few .goldfish, which seem to bear that dark 
abode very well, as we find them mentioned 
by visiters of both 1818 and 1832. A few 
other inscriptions are to be found here, such 
as Dante’s famous line :— 

j <l Leave hope behind, all ye who enter here.” 

j A fire is also kept burning, in an antiquely- 
shaped vase, to purify the air of the vaults. 

A mineralogical collection of some interest 
\ has been formed from the various strata com- 
| posing the sides of the galleries. But the 
j most interesting collection here is the Muse- 
S um of the Dead. On approaching the cata¬ 
comb galleries, the visiter finds the vestibule 
to be in the form of an octagon. The gate is 
flanked by two pillars, and is inscribed above 
with some lines of poetry. The interior of 
the catacombs is arranged with propriety and 
decorum. The crypts holding the divisions 
of piled bones have each of them different 
names, some of which are appropriate, oth¬ 
ers absurd. There is the crypt or niche of 
• eternity, for example, that of Death, and 
| that of the Resurrection, each marked by 
corresponding inscriptions. There is also a 
niche for the victims of the revolution, with 
\ some Latin lines above, which may be rude- 
j; ly Englished :— 

t! 

L.-~ 


“ These, when fierce Discord had usurped thethrone, 
Prompter of crimes, and law and right were scorned, 
By bloody, ruthless men were done to death.’’ 

Among the inappropriately-named crypts 
may safely be reckoned those to which the 
names of Ovid, Anacreon, and some others, 
have been applied. An album, as might 
have been anticipated, is among the other ap¬ 
pendages of the catacombs. 

The other galleries of these great excava¬ 
tions need not be named or described in de¬ 
tail. One general feature marks them all, 
and it is worthy of mention, as reminding us 
most forcibly that these vaults are not simple 
objects of curiosity, or to be thought of mere¬ 
ly as pleasant spectacles, but are to be la¬ 
mented as the possible sources of calamity 
and ruin to the great city under which blind 
neglect allowed them to be formed. Con¬ 
stant attention to them is imperatively de¬ 
manded to secure the safety of the capital of 
France, and the provision adverted to con¬ 
sists in every subterranean street being num¬ 
bered precisely like the one occupying the 
ground above. This is necessary in order to 
apply new supports, on the slightest indica¬ 
tion of danger, to the exact point where they 
are required. 


SCENERY IN ENGLAND-OXFORD, 

The Rev. H. W. Bellows, of New York, 
gives the following graphic sketch of country 
scenery in Old England :— 

We had our first view of the face of Eng- 
land to-day, in a ride on the stage-coach from 
Warwick to Oxford. The distance is forty- 
five miles, and was accomplished in five hours 
and a half, including at least an hour’s stop¬ 
page. Nothing can exceed the charm of a 
drive through this lovety country in the spring 
time, over the roads as smooth as a floor, be¬ 
hind horses fleet as stags, between hedges 
green as new grass and white with blossoms; 
in view of thatched cottages, ivy-clad village 
churches, gray with moss and time, with the 
familiar features of the Old England of the 
story books, and the drawing-master’s gable 
end, tumble-down wandering picture-houses, 
all, “large as life, and twice as natural,” full 
before you ! There is but one word descrip¬ 
tive of English scenery—England is one great 
garden.—Everybody says so, because nobody 
can say anything more or less. We found 
the grounds about Eaton hall, concerning 
which much is said, no finer than the general 
appearance of the country wherever we went. 
It all looks much like the immediate neigh¬ 
borhood of Boston. Many slopes of gentle 


| 

I 
















































SCENERY IN ENGLAND.—OXFORD. 


hill sides, or stretches of meadow, reminded 
us vividly of the undulations of Roxbury and 
Brookline, and the banks of the Charles, which 
is a very good sample of an English river, of 
the largest size. To an American eye, ac¬ 
customed only to the beginnings or progress 
of things, it is very delightful to come upon 
a country that is finished. The order, plan, 
cultivation of English ground, seems perfect. 
You may ride fifty miles and not see one 
neglected plot of land, one broken-down fence, 
one new building, one make-shift device. But 
amid all this perfection of agriculture, all this 
order and solidity and finish of structure, it is 
painful to see how little room the people take 
up, how inferior their accommodations are ; 
how small a feature the homes of the million 
form in the landscape. The dwellings of 
those who cultivate this soil, are hardly high¬ 
er than the hedges, and wear the look of stone 
sheds, or places for farming-tools. Seeing 
the marks of so thick a population in the 
tillage, the traveller looks around for the farm¬ 
houses, which, in America, would so promi¬ 
nently enliven and distinguish the landscape ; 
but in England the common people dwell in 
cots that make a surprisingly small figure in 
the prospect, and give the agricultural dis¬ 
tricts almost the appearance of being uninhab¬ 
ited. We could not help continually asking 
where are the people, and where do they live, 
who did all this work ? 

Of the city and university of Oxford, Mr. 
Bellows says: Either we have been very 
dull readers, or travellers of England have 
given a very lame and inadequate account 
of Oxford ! It is a matter of very serious 
doubt with us, whether Rome itself will have 
power to awaken deeper feelings of wonder 
and delight, or leave a more vivid and pecu¬ 
liar impression upon our minds, than Oxford. 
We shall take the liberty of supposing our 
readers as ignorant as ourselves of the uni¬ 
versity and city of Oxford, and endeavor to 
make them as wise as one very busy day 
there made us. 

Oxford was, from very early times, as far 
back as the year 750, perhaps, the seat of 
some religious houses, priories, or monasteries, 
under the catholic order of things. Here, 
too, from a date quite as remote, were estab¬ 
lished, under the patronage of these estab¬ 
lishments, various schools. These religious 
establishments possessed much wealth, in 
lands, and privileges, and pious bequests, and, 
as the catholic faith declined, they were con¬ 
verted, both buildings and lands, to the use 
of these schools of learning, which thus be¬ 
came endowed with property which every 
century, until recently, has done much to ap¬ 
preciate. Thus the university of Oxford is 
composed of twenty-four different and inde¬ 


481 


pendent schools or colleges, each owing its 
origin to some more or less remote foundation, 
in an ancient monastic establishment, or else 
to the piety and munificence of some pupil 
of one or another of these establishments, 
whose gratitude tempted him to found another 
school like that in which he himself had been 
nursed. 

It is necessary to remember that Oxford is 
a city of thirty thousand inhabitants, occupy¬ 
ing, perhaps, two miles square, of which, far 
the largest part, is taken up in college build¬ 
ings and grounds. When it is stated that 
the number of resident students is sixteen 
hundred, it will not excite surprise to hear 
that the college buildings are immense. 
They are uniformly built round a quadrangu¬ 
lar court, and very few of these squares are 
less than two hundred feet on each face. 
Some of the colleges contain as many as three 
quadrangles, and, besides the large courts 
within, are surrounded by grounds from fifty 
acres to two miles in extent. These grounds, 
through which the two rivers of Oxford, the 
Cherwell and the Isis, meander, are laid out 
in the most tasteful manner, full of shrubs 
and flowers, and carpeted with a velvel sward. 
Trees, of great magnitude and age, shade the 
cool w r alks. There is as much difference in 
the extent, endowments, age, lands, numbers 
of students among these colleges, as if they 
were in different parts of the country, and, 
except for certain purposes, they are as inde¬ 
pendent of each other as Harvard, Yale, Co¬ 
lumbia, and Union. Consider, now, that 
there are tw’enty-four of these colleges, each 
having edifices of its own, a hall or refectory, 
a chapel, a library, lecture-rooms, and dormi¬ 
tories ; and that while several of them have 
very much more extensive accommodations 
than Harvard or Yale, few have less, and 
you will form an idea of the extent of the 
university of Oxford. Now, if it be remem¬ 
bered that these colleges are all built of stone, 
and usually in the highest style of architec¬ 
ture ; that they form the most massive piles 
of building, with two or three exceptions in 
the world; that they preserve very much 
the appearance of the old monasteries from 
which many of them sprung, having still 
parts of the old buildings wffth the chapel, 
cloisters, refectory, and cells of the religious 
orders of seven hundred and a thousand years 
ago; that piety, and wealth, and taste, have 
lavished, for many centuries, their stores in 
adding to these buildings, or restoring them ; 
if it be understood, that whatever we are ac¬ 
customed to see in our own country in Gothic 
architecture most elaborately wrought in w r ood 
and plaster, is here upon a far more magnifi¬ 
cent scale, and with an increased richness, 
done in solid stone, both within and without, 


31 











1 


482 


THE INDIAN CHILD’S GRAVE. 


so that no flower that blows may not be found 
in marble there—if it be also considered that 
it takes a whole day barely to walk in and 
out of these different quadrangles, each spa¬ 
cious and splendid, and costly enough for the 
palace of a mighty sovereign ; if it is further 
remembered, that there are twenty-four 
chapels, each a magnificent temple, within 
this university, and full of the most costly 
work in stone, or oak carving, or painted 
ceilings, or invaluable memorials of the past 
—as many libraries, too, scarce one of which 
contains less than thirty thousand volumes, 
with a common library (the Bodleian) con¬ 
taining five hundred thousand—as many halls 
full of portraits, by the best masters, of the 
most celebrated scholars or statesman of Eng¬ 
land for a thousand years past, museums of 
all that is instructive in science, art, antiquity, 
and these countless edifices of substantial 
stone in various stages of preservation, most 
of them hoary with age, flecked with moss, 
or with jagged outlines where the tooth of 
time has gnawed, contrasted here and there 
with those of lighter color, and sharper and 
fresher outlines, but of the same primeval 
style, and all soft with the damp and soot of 
the English atmosphere—and then the reader 
will have a tolerably adequate notion of the 
outward seeming of this vast, magnificent, 
and glorious university of Oxford. 


THE INDIAN CHILD’S GRAVE. 

“ Ah, little thought the strong and brave, 

Who bore their lifeless chieftain forth 
Or the young wife , that weeping gave 
Her first-born to the earth. 

That the pale race, who waste us now, 

Among their bones should guide the plough.” 

The subject of our engraving was furnished 
by the above lines from Bryant’s Poem, on 
“An Indian at the Burying-place of his Fa¬ 
thers.” In order to appreciate fully the lasting 
interest and beauty of the picture, it is necessa¬ 
ry that the mind should recur to those primitive 
days, when, upon the very ground where we 
have built our homes, the “red ruler of the 
shade” 

“ Walked forth, amid his reign, to dare 
The wolf and grapple with the bear.” 

The simple Indian is the “ forest hero” of 
this western world, and the white man has 
but just set his foot upon its unsubdued shores. 
At the opening in the border of the forest, for 

-“ they laid their dead 

By the vast solemn skirts of the old groves,” 

an Indian and his young and tender wife are 
observed weeping over the grave of their first¬ 
born that they have just yielded to the earth. 


“ A low green hillock, two small gray stones, 
Rise over the place that holds its bones.’’ 

The swarthy Indian has sat himself down 
beside a rude rock, and leans upon it, hiding 
his face in sorrow. Long raven hair veils the 
face of the young wife, as she droops in the 
fulness of grief upon her protector’s knee. In 
the rudeness and simplicity of nature, they 
wear but the wampum blanket to shield their 
bodies, and the ornamented leathern moccasin 
to protect their feet. The only guarantee of 
a livelihood for the morrow, the sorrowing In¬ 
dian grasps in his right hand, his bow. At their 
side lies the swathing board, that but recent¬ 
ly bore the young innocent, whose lifeless 
body the “ green hillock” has too prematurely 
covered. Close at hand sits their faithful com¬ 
panion, the dog, not altogether lacking sym¬ 
pathy, gazing listlessly into the trees. As if 
to soothe the loneliness of grief, nature has ar¬ 
rested her elements, and a “vast solemn” still¬ 
ness seems to reign around. While, on one 
side, the huge trunk of a mighty oak ascends 
spreading its branches high over the scene, 
the aspiring saplings upon the other seem 
striving to reach with their topmost boughs 
the nethermost limbs of that Father of the 
forest. The affections of the wife have in¬ 
tertwined themselves with those of her hardy 
companion and protector, upon whom she re¬ 
clines with confidence; fit emblem of the ten¬ 
der relation of that gentler portion of the In¬ 
dian pair, a vine has entwined itself around 
the oak, and acquiring assurance in the en¬ 
during strength of its supporter has extended 
itself into the branches. 

A little beyond the group, a ploughed field 
extends itself, whence the white man, 

-“hewed the dark old woods away, 

And gave the virgin fields to the day.” 

Carrying the view still further in the distance, 
and over various cultivated fields, undulating, 
and studded here and there with clumps of 
trees, the eye meets a beautiful river, which, 
after threading its way among rocky hills and 
beetling cliffs, and along overshadowing forests, 
debouches peacefully into the sea. Its quiet 
bosom, however, bears a busy squadron of the 
white man’s ships, that have come to burden 
themselves with the riches of this new treas¬ 
ure land. Full of new zeal, the white man 
has set his encroaching foot upon the Indian’s 
shore, and elated with his glories and succes¬ 
ses, he has reared up a city there, a monu¬ 
ment of his bold enterprise, and easily ac¬ 
quired wealth. The landscape lessens among 
the hills, and the distance is lost among the 
far-retiring mountains on one side, and the 
ocean which confuses its bounds with the 
horizon on the other. 

































INDIAN PARENTS AT THEIR CHILDREN’S GRAVE. 






















































































4S4 


INDEPENDENCE HALL, PHILADELPHIA. 


The Old Statehouse, or Hall of Independence, Walnut Street Front. 


INDEPENDENCE HALL, 

The old statehouse, still standing on Chest¬ 
nut street, between Fifth and Sixth streets, 
Philadelphia, is an object of veneration to ev¬ 
ery American. Prior to its erection, the legis¬ 
lature of Pennsylvania, held their annual ses¬ 
sions in different private houses. In the year 
1729, the legislature resolved to build a house 
for their particular accommodation, and they 
appointed commissioners, who purchased the 
lot fronting on Chestnut street, between Fifth 
and Sixth streets, for the purpose. 

The first purchase included only about half 
the depth to Walnut street. Fronting on 
that street, were a number of small houses, 
and on Sixth street corner was a shed, which 
afforded and was used as a common shelter 
for the parties of Indians, occasionally visit¬ 


ing the city on business. In 1760, the other 
half square was purchased, and the whole 
space included was walled in with a high 
brick wall. This, in time, gave place to the 
beautiful iron palisade which now encloses the 
yard.. 

This venerable pile is a place consecrated 
by numerous important occurrences in our 
colonial and revolutionary history. Its con¬ 
templation fills the mind with many associa¬ 
tions and local impressions—within its walls 
were once witnessed all the memorable doings 
of our patriotic forefathers—above all, it was 
renowned in 1776, as possessing beneath its 
dome, “ the Hall of Independence,” in which 
the representatives of a nation resolved to be 
free and independent. 

The style and architecture of the house and 
steeple were directed by Dr. John Kearsley, 


I 


I 


i 

t 


| 






































































































































































































Front view of the Old Statehouse, or Hall of Independence, Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. 
























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































INDEPENDENCE HALL, PHILADELPHIA. 


486 


sen., the same amateur who gave the archi¬ 
tectural character to Christ church. The car¬ 
penter employed was Mr. Edward Wooley. 
The facts concerning its bell first set up in the 
steeple (if we regard its after history), has 
something peculiar. It was of itself not a 
little singular that the bell, when first set up, 
should, in its colonial character, have been 
inscribed as its motto, “ Proclaim liberty 
throughout the land, and to all the people 
thereof!” But it is still more strange, and 
deserves to be often remembered, that it was 
the first in Philadelphia, and from the situa¬ 
tion of Congress then legislating beneath its 
peals, it was also the first in the United States 
to proclaim, by ringing, the news of the Dec¬ 
laration of Independence. 

This bell was imported from England, in 
1752, for the statehouse, but having met with 
some accident in the trial-ringing, after it was 
landed, it lost its tones received in the father- 
land, and had to be conformed to ours by a 
recasting. This was done under the direc¬ 
tion of Isaac Norris, Esq., the then speaker 
of the colonial assembly, and to him we are 
probably indebted for the remarkable motto 
so indicative of its future use. 

At the time the British were expected to 
occupy Philadelphia, in 1777, the bell was 
taken from the city to preserve it from the 
enemy. At a former period, say in 1774, the 
base of the wood work of the steeple was 
found in a state of decay, and it was deemed 
advisable to take it down, leaving only a small 
belfrey to cover the bell for the use of the 
town-clock. It so continued until a few years 
past, when public feeling being much in favor 
of restoring the venerated building to its for¬ 
mer character, a new steeple was erected, as 
much like the former, as circumstances would 
admit. 

Previous to the visit of General Lafayette, 
in 1825, some dunce in office, who had con¬ 
trol of the building, by way of making the 
room where the Declaration took place more 
worthy, as he thought, of the nation’s guest, 
for whose use the councils had appropriated 
it, had all the antique architectural decora¬ 
tions and furniture of the room removed, and 
caused it to be fitted up in modern style, with 
new mahogany furniture, tapestry, &c. This 
silly act was not discovered until too late, and 
it greatly diminished the pleasing associations 
that must have thronged the heart of Lafay¬ 
ette, as he stood once more in that sacred hall. 
The error has been since repaired, so far as it 
could be, byrestoring the hall as far as possi¬ 
ble to its ancient appearance. The Declara¬ 
tion of Independence was signed in the lower 
hall, on the left of the principal entrance, of 
the main building, as seen in the view. 

The regular sessions of the state assembly, 


were held for a number of years in this build¬ 
ing. The senate occupied a room up stairs. 
Occasionally these rooms were the scene of 
splendid banquetings. In the long gallery, 
where Peale afterward had his museum, the 
tables were sometimes made to groan with the 
luxuries of good living. 

In 1736, soon after the edifice was com¬ 
pleted, his honor, William Allen, Esq., may¬ 
or, made a feast, at his own expense, at the 
statehouse, which was pronounced a most 
sumptuous and elegant entertainment. In 
1756, the assembly gave a great dinner in 
honor of the new governor, Dennv. In 1757, 
the city corporation gave an entertainment to 
Lord Loudon, “ commander-in-chief of the 
king’s troops in the colonies.” And in 1774, 
when the first Congress met in this city, the 
gentlemen of the city gave a feast, at which 
upward of five hundred persons dined. 

Formany years the public papers of the 
colony, and afterward of the city and state, 
were kept in the east and west wings of the 
statehouse, without any fire-proof security, 
such as they now possess. From their mani¬ 
fest insecurity, it was deemed expedient 
some years ago, to pull down the former two- 
story wings, and to supply their places by 
those which now are there. In pulling down 
the western wing, a keg of excellent Hints was 
discovered at the depth of four or five feet, 
the wood was utterly decayed, but the im¬ 
pression was distinct in the loom ground.— 
Near to it, Mr. Groves, the master-mason, 
found the entire equipments of a sergeant—a 
sword, cartouch-box, buckles, &c. The work¬ 
men also dug up, close by the same, as many 
as one dozen bomb-shells, filled with powder. 
Two of these, as a freak of the mason’s lads, 
are now actually walled into the new cellar 
wall, on the south side. But for this explana¬ 
tion, a day may yet come when such a dis¬ 
covery might give circulation to another Guy 
Fawkes and gunpowder-plot story. 

At the head of the article, on page 484, is 
given a view of the statehouse fronting on 
Walnut street. It was here that on the eighth 
of July, 1776, the Declaration of Independ¬ 
ence was first read by John Nixon, amid the 
repeated shouts of the people ; the king’s anns 
in the court-room, were taken down and burnt 
in public; and bonfires, discharges of cannon, 
and ringing of bells, demonstrated the joy of 
the people. 

The Declaration of Independence was re¬ 
ceived by all the colonies with satisfaction and 
joy. The following narrative of its reception 
in Boston, is from the pen of a British officer 
who was a prisoner on parole at the time the 
event took place:— 

“ On the seventeen of July, the British 
officers on parole received each a card from 










INDEPENDENCE HALL, PHILADELPHIA. 


the governor, requesting the honor of his at¬ 
tendance at a specified hour on the morrow in 
the Town hall. As rumors were already afloat 
touching the decided step that had been taken 
at Philadelphia, we were not without a sus¬ 
picion as to the purport, of this meeting, and 
we hesitated for a while as to the propriety 
of giving the sanction of our countenance to a 
proceeding which we could not but regard 
as traitorous. Curiosity, however, got the 
better of scruples which, to say the truth, 
were not very well founded; and it was re¬ 
solved, after a brief consultation, that the 
invitation ought to be accepted. Accordingly, 
at the hour appointed, we set out, arrayed in 
the full dress of our corps. As we passed 
through the town, we found it thronged in all 
quarters with persons of every age and both 
sexes. All were in their holyday suits, every 
eye beamed with delight, and every tongue 
was in rapid motion. King street, Queen 
street, and the other streets adjoining the 
council chamber, were lined with detachments 
from two battalions of infantry, tolerably well 
equipped; while in front of the jail a brigade 
of artillery was drawn up, the gunners stand¬ 
ing by their pieces with lighted matches; nor, 
to do them justice, was there any admixture 
of insolence in the joy which seemed to per¬ 
vade all classes. Whether long residence 
among them, and the anxiety which we dis¬ 
played never wantonly to offend their preju¬ 
dices, had secured their esteem, or whether 
they considered it beneath the dignity of a 
grave people, standing in a position so critical, 
to vent their spleen upon individuals entirely 
at their mercy, I do not know; but the mark¬ 
ed respect with which we were treated, both 
by soldiers and civilians, could not be misun¬ 
derstood. The very crowd opened a lane for 
us to the door of the hall, and the troops gave 
us, as we mounted the steps, the salute due 
to officers of our rank. 

“On entering the hall, we found it occupied 
by functionaries, military, civil, and ecclesias¬ 
tical ; among whom the same good humor and 
excitement prevailed as amon^ the people out 
of doors. They received us with great frank¬ 
ness and cordiality, and allotted to us such 
stations as enabled us to witness the whole 
of the ceremony, which was as simple as the 
most republican taste could have desired. 
Exactly as the clock struck one, Colonel Crafts, 
who occupied the chair, rose, and, silence be¬ 
ing obtained, read aloud the declaration, which 
announced to the world that the tie of alle¬ 
giance and protection, which had so long held 
Britain and her North American colonies to¬ 
gether, was for ever separated. This being 
finished, the gentleman stood up, and each, 
repeating the words as they were spoken bv 
an officer, swore to uphold, at the sacrifice of 


487 


life, the rights of his country. Meanwhile, 
the town-clerk read from a balcony the Declar¬ 
ation of Independence to the crowd ; at the 
close of which, a shout began in the hall, 
passed like an electric spark to the streets, 
which rang which loud huzzas, the slow and 
measured boom of cannon, and the rattle of 
musketry. The batteries on Fort Hill, Dor¬ 
chester Neck, the castle, Nantasket, and Long 
Island, each saluted with thirteen guns, the 
artillery in the town fired thirteen rounds, and 
the infantry, scattered into thirteen divisions, 
poured forth thirteen volleys, all correspond¬ 
ing to the number of states which formed the 
Union. 

“ What followed may be described in 
a few words. There was a banquet in the 
council chamber, where the citizens appeared 
and appropriate toasts were given. When 
night closed in, the darkness was effectually 
dispelled by a general and what was termed 
then a splendid illumination. I need not say 
that we neither joined, nor were expected to 
join, in any of the festivities. Having suffi¬ 
ciently gratified our curiosity, we returned to 
our lodgings, and passed the remainder of the 
evening in a frame of mind such as our humil¬ 
iating and irksome situation might be expect¬ 
ed to produce.” 

It was ascertained by Dr. Maese, in a cor¬ 
respondence with Thomas Jefferson, that 
the Declaration of Independence was writ¬ 
ten by him, at his private lodgings, in the 
house of a Mr. Graaf, which was situated on 
the southwest corner of Market and Seventh 
streets, Philadelphia. 


Memory. —The great point in cultivating 
the memory is to gain command of the atten¬ 
tion. A habit of continued, unrelaxing atten¬ 
tion, especially if acquired in early years, is 
the foundation of a good memory. A habit 
of attentive thought is better than all the ar¬ 
tificial memories ever contrived. To the for¬ 
mation of such a habit, sufficient efforts have 
not often been directed. Therefore it is that 
we hear many persons complaining of the 
want of memory. They can not remember 
the lectures, sermons, and addresses, which 
they hear, nor the books which they read. 
All seem to run through their minds like wa¬ 
ter through a sieve. They were entertained, 
and even edified, they would say, hut ask 
them to state what it was that entertained 
and instructed them, they can not tell. Close 
attention, or rather persevering effort to give 
close attention, will help even such a memory. 
The too common practice is to attempt to till 
the storehouse of the memory before a foun¬ 
dation is laid, or a habit of attentive thought 
is formed. 














AMHERST COLLEGE. 


F= 

488 


AMHERST COLLEGE, 

WITH THE 

NEW CABINET AND OBSERVATORY. 

Amherst College, one of the principal 
literary institutions in Massachusetts, and 
even in the United States, occupies a delight¬ 
ful and healthful situation, on the summit of 
the bold ridge of land on which the town is 
situated whose name it bears. The ground, 
rising with a fine swell from near the eastern 
bank of Connecticut river, affords fine views 
on every side, over a surface varied by simi¬ 
lar ridges, and by alternate fields and forests, 
villages, farms, and gardens. Northward ri¬ 
ses the long, gentle, and commanding ridge of 
. Pelham; and a few miles south are the cele¬ 
brated twin peaks of Mount Tom and Mount 
Holyoke. The surrounding country is not 
less interesting for its history, than for the in¬ 
dustry, intelligence, and morality, of its inhab¬ 
itants ; and in all branches of improvement, 
the college has exerted a powerful influence 
far beyond the limited horizon. 

The three college buildings, one of which 
is seen, in all its length, on the right side of 
our print, are fine, substantial edifices. That 
which is most distinctly visible is four stories 
high, with a Doric portico projecting from the 
middle, and a dome rising from the centre of 
the roof. Toward the left are the new build¬ 
ings, lately erected for the cabinet of natu¬ 
ral history and the astronomical observatory, 
while a cluster of dwellings, with a church in 
the midst, and a number of scattering houses, 
show the elevated and agreeable situation of 
the southern part of the village. 

Amherst college was founded in 1821, in¬ 
corporated in 1825, by an act of incorporation 
by the legislature, and now contains one hun¬ 
dred and sixty-six students. The Rev. Ed- 
' ward Hitchcock, long distinguished as the 
professor of geology, &c., was elected in 1843 
as the successor of the president, Dr. Hum¬ 
phries, and ably occupies his station. 

There are professors of rhetoric and Eng¬ 
lish literature ; mathematics and natural phi¬ 
losophy ; chymistry and natural history; Greek 
and Hebrew; zoology and astronomy; intel¬ 
lectual and moral philosophy ; and Latin and 
French. There are also three tutors, a pre¬ 
ceptor in German and French, and a lecturer 
’ on political economy. There are three vaca¬ 
tions, viz., one of four weeks, from the com¬ 
mencement, one of six weeks, beginning on 
the Wednesday before the state thanksgiving- 
day, and one of three weeks, from the third 
, Wednesday in April. 

The expenses are—for tuition, $10 each 
term; room rent, $2 do.; recitation rooms, 
j &c., $2 do.; fuel and lights, from $9 to $11. | 

i 


The lowest terms for board, in companies, is 
$1 a week, and the highest, in families, $2. 
Good hoard, in families, may be had for $1.50. 
A number of indigent students are in part 
provided with furniture. 

The libraries of the college and literary 
societies contain about 15,000 volumes. The 
college library is accessible to all the students. 
The north, middle, and south college buildings 
are capacious, convenient, and situated in a 
manner highly favorable to appearance. 

At the dedication of the new cabinet and 
observatory, on the 28th of June, 1848, a 
large number of distinguished men attended, 
and addresses were made by the president, 
Hon. Wm. B. Calhoun, Professor Silliman, 
Professor Shepherd, Wm. C. Redfield, Esq., 
and Dr. Worcester. The pamphlet contain¬ 
ing an account of the proceedings, contains 
some interesting facts and dates connected 
with the history of science in the United 
States, with many enlightened sentiments, 
honorable to the assembly from which they 
proceeded. Due acknowledgments were made 
to the liberal patrons of the institutions, who 
at different periods had rendered it essential 
aid from their estates; and gratifying evi¬ 
dence was afforded by a recapitulation of con¬ 
tributions and donations received within a few 
months, that its character and usefulness are 
more highly appreciated than ever. The presi¬ 
dent paid a most appropriate and well-merited 
compliment to one of the principal benefac¬ 
tors,* in the following words: “In the astro- 

* It appears that the most liberal individual dona¬ 
tion during the past year, to Amherst college, has 
been made by the Hon. David Sears, consisting of 
real estate in the city of Boston, estimated by the 
donor to be of the value of $12,000. This, with 
$10,000 formerly bestowed, is to constitute the 
“ Sears’ Foundation of Literature and Benevolence 
which, although for the present it does not yield a 
large income, yet such are the terms on which it is 
bestowed, that it must ultimately become of great 
value to the college. To the benevolence of the 
same individual, we believe, the astronomical obser¬ 
vatory at Cambridge owes its existence. 

Among the letters received at the dedication of 
the new cabinet and observatary of Amherst college, 
was an instructive and interesting one from Mr. 
Sears, which takes a broad and very just view of the 
relation of colleges to the prosperity and advance¬ 
ment of the community. “In my humble opinion,” 
says he, “our colleges are the great conservatives of 
the Union.” So long as money is freely spent in 
support of the church, the school, the college, the hos¬ 
pital, and the asylum, for memorials of the departed 
good and great, for the sustenance of the poor and 
the comfort of the prisoner, there is little fear of its 
being greatly misapplied in luxurious extravagance 
or vicious indulgences. It is not to hoard it with the 
passion of a miser, but to procure to ourselves the 
advantages which can not be obtained without it— 
the cultivation, the improvement, the luxury of doing 
good, which are the stimulus, the means, and the re¬ 
ward of virtue. It is Boston's great honor that among 
her citizens there are so many who understand the 
use of money .—New York Evangelist , Oct. 19. 















View of Amherst College, with the New Cabinet and Observatory, from the Southwest 















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































AMHERST COLLEGE. 


490 


nomical observatory at Cambridge is a mas¬ 
sive tower, built solid of Quincy granite, 
called the ‘ Sears’ Tower,’ which sustains one 
of the most splendid telescopes in the world. 
But in the * Sears' Foundation of Literature 
and Benevolence ’ in Amherst college, we have 
a more enduring structure: ‘monumentum aere 
perennius :’ imo vero etiam, saxo perennius.” 
A letter from Mr. Sears, of Boston, was 
read, containing the following paragraphs:— 

“ It is the peculiar characteristic of Massa¬ 
chusetts to give encouragement to learning, 
and to cherish her literary institutions. It is 
a sentiment which has grown with her growth, 
and strengthened with her strength, and al- 

O C* 7 

most marks her as a distinct people. From 
the landing of their forefathers, in 1620, to the 
present day, her sons—while differing on 
other subjects—have thought alike on this, 
and they have reason to be proud of the 
result. 

“ The colleges of Massachusetts are aptly 
called seminaries of learning, for by them the 
seeds of knowledge, of virtue, of morality, and 
religion, are sown broadcast through our land. 
Go where you will, from Maine to Mexico, 
from Ohio to the Pacific ocean, and much of 
what you find among the people that is good 
and honest, intelligent and successful, owes 
its origin to the loins or education of New 
England—and principally of Massachusetts. 
In my humble opinion, our colleges are the 
great conservatives of the Union, and we are 
deeply indebted to them for whatever of hon¬ 
est principle and integrity of character exists 
among us.” 

“ Especially permit me to notice the ob¬ 
servatory, and the liberal and enlightened 
gentleman whose name stands the first on the 
list of patrons.* I trust that the foundation 
thus laid by him will hereafter sustain the in¬ 
struments of modern science to draw from the 
skies a knowledge of the stars—to demon¬ 
strate to men the glory of God, and the mag¬ 
nificence of His works—and show to their 
wondering minds, that “ the thousand brilliant 
worlds which circle round Him, are governed 
by one law, and that in wisdom ‘ Hr. has 
msde them all.’ ” 

“ I venture to conclude my answer to you, 
reverend sir, with the following sentiment: 
Literary talent, and pecuniary ability, may 
their zeal be ever found united in building up 
the halls of learning, and extending the altars 
of religion.” 

The Wood's Cabinet is of brick, of an oc¬ 
tagonal form, and forty-five feet in diameter,, 
with two lofty stories. It is stuccoed without 
as well as within ; and the two halls which it 
contains are ornamented with fresco painting. 
Great care has been taken to render this 

* Hon. Abbott Lawrence. 


building secure from fire. The floors are fire¬ 
proof, the upper one is supported by four 
strong iron pillars, and the doors are of iron, 
weighing nearly half a ton each. 

The Lawrence Observatory i3 an octagonal 
tower, forty-four feet high and eighteen feet 
in diameter. It is surmounted by a dome ten 
feet high, which is so made as to be easily 
moved round to the right or left, for the con¬ 
venience of observers using the telescope. As 
in the observatory at West Point, &c., the 
dome rests upon’Several cannon-balls, placed 
between large iron hoops, or circular track¬ 
ways, which perform the part of wheels. The 
telescope is to be supported by a pedestal, or 
column, of brickwork, capped with stone, 
which rises from the ground to the summit of 
the tower, and an opening is left in the dome 
through which the telescope may be pointed. 
The institution is not yet provided with this 
important instrument; but it is hoped the 
munificent friends of science in the state will 
not long allow the observatory to remain des¬ 
titute. 

The Tran sit-Boom is in a small wooden 
building, connected with the observatory, and 
contains the fine transit instrument belonging 
to the institution, which was purchased in 
Paris by Professor ITovey, a long time since, 
together with the astronomical clock. This 
room has an opening through its roof, from 
the north to the south, to allow observations 
to be made on all parts of the meridian. 

A vestibule of two stories connects the ob¬ 
servatory and the cabinet, and contains the 
staircases leading to the difierent apartments of 
both. The situation of all may be clearly un¬ 
derstood by a glance at the print. We now 
return to the former building, to speak of the 
valuable collections of specimens which it 
contains, although their numbers and the de¬ 
scriptions necessary to make them fully under¬ 
stood by a common reader, will prevent us from 
attempting anything more than a very general 
sketch. It is, however, proper to mention 
here, that this building does not contain all 
the specimens in natural history belonging to 
the college. The zoological cabinet is to be 
seen in the old apartment; and there the vis¬ 
iter will find a complete series of animals, ex¬ 
hibited in cases on the walls, from the human 
species down to the zoophites. The large 
and highly valuable collection of shells and 
insects, recently presented to the institution 
by Professor Charles B. Adams, occupies ta¬ 
bles on the floor of the same apartment, and 
also that of the library, of which we can 
only remark here, that the number of shells 
amounts to five thousand, and that of insects 
to several thousands. 

To speak of the numerous and interesting 
objects displayed in the new cabinet: The 









AMHERST COLLEGE. 


lower hall is devoted to geology, and contains 
11,500 specimens of rocks and minerals, and 
fossils associated with them, arranged in four¬ 
teen distinct collections. The visiter, on en¬ 
tering the door, finds them presented in the 
following order, and so marked that, with the 
help of the printed catalogue, he can easily 
understand what stratum and what country 
each is intended to represent or to illustrate. 

1. The Rories of the European Continent. 
—These are illustrated by six hundred speci¬ 
mens of rocks and fossils, about three inches 
by four in size, whose names are printed be¬ 
hind them in English, French, and German. 
This collection, which was put up at the 
Heidelberg Mineralogical Institute, affords 
the best imaginable means for studying the 
rocks of Europe. It is remarkable that the 
sandstones and some of the petrified fishes 
which they contain, almost exactly resemble 
specimens from the Connecticut valley. 

2. The English Rocks. —Among the six 
hundred specimens in this collection, generally 
small, is a very instructive series of the chalks 
and the Wealden group. The latter is from 
an ancient estuary in the southeastern part of 
England, where the iguanodon and other enor¬ 
mous reptiles once lived, as is proved by 
their bones. 

3. TJie Missionary Collection. —These spe¬ 
cimens, amounting to about twelve hundred, 
have been collected and presented by Ameri- 
ican missionaries, in many different coun¬ 
tries and some of the most interesting sites 
in the world chiefly in Asia; and, although 
not generally intended to illustrate geology, 
are often valuable in that point of view. Two 
thirds of the individuals who contributed these 
to the institution are of the number of its 
graduates. 

Among the interesting facts proved by the 
specimens in this collection are the following : 
That limestones form the prevailing rocks 
along the borders of the Mediterranean; and 
some of them are composed of shells, so small 
as to be invisible to the naked eye, of the 
kind called polythalamia; and others abound 
in petrified fishes, &c. 

Most of the limestones of the Holy Land 
have been referred to the chalk formation, 

and, as might therefore be expected, often 
contain flints, hornstone, jaspers, and agates. 
Of these there are specimens from Lebanon, 
Anti-Lebanon, Carmel, Beyroot, Tyre, the 
Mount of Olives, and the garden of Gethsem- 

ane. Petrified fishes and some of the lower 
animals abound in Mount Lebanon ; and of 
these one hundred arid nine specimens are 
to be seen in the collection. Professor Fiske 
found oysters and clams on summits thou¬ 
sands of feet above the level of the sea. 

N umerous fragments of ancient Greek and 


491 


Roman edifices are also displayed, from dif¬ 
ferent cities and other localities in Asia, 
Greece, Italy, Africa, and the islands, as the 
Colosseum of Rome, the Acropolis of Athens, 
the temple of Juno, in Samos, of Apollo, in 
Cnidus, Pompeii, Carthage, Samaria, Persep- 
olis, the seven churches, &c., &c. Specimens 
of rocks from Mount Olympus are almost 
the only ones in this collection corresponding 
with those of New England. Many volcanic 
specimens also are to be seen, from Asia Mi¬ 
nor, Italy, the Sandwich islands, &cc. Rock 
salt from the Red and Dead seas; bottles of 
water from these and other celebrated sour¬ 
ces, and other objects we might particularize. 

4. The West India Collection comes next 
in order, and consists chiefly of recent petri¬ 
factions from St. Croix and Antigua, present¬ 
ed by Professor Hovey. Most of the species 
correspond with living ones. Beautiful spe¬ 
cimens of petrified wood show all the fibres 
and vessels of the different, kinds of timber, 
converted into stones of extreme hardness. 

5. Rocks of the United States. —Here is a 
very instructive series of fifteen hundred spe¬ 
cimens, the first twenty-seven of which are 
the stones of which all our rocks are com¬ 
posed, and therefore called the Alphabet of 
Geology. Among the fossils are the tooth of 
the ancient large American horse, found in 
Amherst, whose remains are also discovered 
on the Mississippi and elsewhere; and teeth 
and bones of mastodons and mammoths, sharks 
fifty or one hundred feet long, &c. About one 
hundred and fifty specimens are from our coal 
regions, which occupy an-areaof about one hun¬ 
dred and fifty thousand square miles; and these 
present many interesting impressions and fos¬ 
sils. One part of this collection is eminently 
of practical importance, viz., two hundred and 
twenty specimens of soils, clays, marls, &c., 
from different parts of Massachusetts. Among 
other objects is a piece of the green hornstone 
rock from which Shay’s soldiers supplied 
their muskets with flints, in his rebellion. 
Another specimen proves that plants, analo¬ 
gous to some of those of the tropical regions, 
once grew in Massachusetts. This is a large 
petrified reed, with several joints, dug up at 
Seekonk. 

6. Massachusetts Rocks. —This collection 
was made during the geological survey of the 
state, between 1830 and 1846; and embraces 
a large number of clay-stones, the only con¬ 
siderable assemblage of these curious concre¬ 
tions anywhere to be seen. Serpentines, mar¬ 
bles, syenites, porphyries, and other orna¬ 
mental stones of the state, are here exhibited, 
cut and polished ; and their various colors and 
brilliant surfaces afford a surprising variety, 
considering the limited region in which they 
have been found. 










492 


AMHERST COLLEGE. 


7. Rocks and Minerals of Connecticut .— 
Eight hundred specimens, presented by Pro- 

| lessor Shepherd, much resembling those of 
I Massachusetts. 

8. Rocks and Minerals of Vermont , col¬ 
lected by Professor C. B. Adams, while sur¬ 
veying that state. 

9. Fossils of the Paris Basin , containing 
one hundred and twenty-four species of or¬ 
ganic remains. 

10. Marbles , Alabasters , <^c., from Rome. 
—One hundred and seventy-two polished 
specimens. 

11. Organic Remains from Europe. —Five 
hundred specimens—highly useful to students. 

12. Fossil Footmarks , fyc. — In this de¬ 
partment, as might be expected, the collection 
is peculiarly rich ; President Hitchcock hav¬ 
ing, while a professor, first brought this curi¬ 
ous and important branch of geology to the 

: knowledge of the world. Here we find two 
i hundred and fifty specimens of footmarks, 
among which we can particularize only a few. 
The largest are the tracks of the giant animal 
brontozoum , an enormous bird, something like, 
and with a foot three or four times larger than, 
the ostrich. There were three tracks of this 
monster, fifty-four and fifty-six inches apart. 
The depressed track of another will hold more 
than a gallon of water. The other foot-prints, 
indicating more than forty different species of 
animals, chiefly birds, we have not room to 
mention; but they are well worthy of atten¬ 
tive study. Most of them are from the sand¬ 
stone rocks of the Connecticut valley : but 
some are from other states and transatlantic 
countries. 

The Shepherd Cabinet occupies vertical 
cases, ranged against the walls of the upper 
hall, and is divided into meteoric substances, 
mineralogy, and geology. The first of these 
are numerous, and from many different parts 
of the world. The other portions of this col¬ 
lection are also well filled, as might be ex¬ 
pected from the science and experience of the 
collector. 


THE NEW HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT. 

This long range of edifices presents an im¬ 
posing aspect to the stranger, as he passes up 
the Thames, and turns his eyes to the spot 
so long occupied by the old parliament houses. 
They were accidentally destroyed by fire on 
the 16th of October, 1834. The present en¬ 
larged edifice soon rose from the ruins, and 
affords much more ample and convenient ac¬ 
commodations to the two houses of parliament, 
the library, and the various minor purposes 
connected with them. The origin of the con¬ 


flagration is a matter of much uncertainty ; 
but it was supposed to be accidental. A large 
quantities of old and useless papers had been 
burnt in the Exchequer, which, it was sup¬ 
posed, might have been too hastily crowded 
into the fireplaces, and over-heated some of 
the chimney-flues. The mere destruction of 
the main building itself might not have been 
much regretted, as it made room for the pres¬ 
ent superior structure: but numerous valuable 
documents were consumed, and the admired 
old painted chamber, the tapestries, &c., in 
the house of lords, and, above all, the ad¬ 
joining ancient chapel of St. Stephen, were 
also ruined. This last had long stood as the 
most perfect specimen of the highly ornament¬ 
ed Gothic style of architecture in the king¬ 
dom, and was respectable and valuable also 
from its historical associations. 

Westminster cathedral, which stands in 
this vicinity, was the first of the ancient ed¬ 
ifices which are here clustered together. The 
superstitions inculcated by the Romish priest¬ 
hood have always filled the heads of all people, 
foolish enough to listen to their fictions, with 
ideas of the superior sanctity of the objects, 
buildings and places which the pretended 
miraculous power of themselves or others 
has distinguished. There, as in many other 
places and countries, consequence was given 
to the place where the ground was called 
holy, and a host of images were congregated, 
and daily worshipped. King Canute, though 
a Dane, became a dupe of the priesthood, and 
in his later days, fixed his residence under 
their wing, being the first king who occupied 
this site. The building which he inhabited 
was destroyed by fire in the time of Edward 
the Confessor, who, a bigot of the blindest 
kind, built another palace near the same spot; 
and his successors continued to occupy West¬ 
minster palace, until the reign of Henry VIII. 
in 1529, when another fire occurred by which 
it was destroyed, and Whitehall became the 
royal residence. 

The origin of the parliament of England 
is lost in the gloom of the dark ages. It is 
believed that the representatives of the people 
formerly met with the lords in the great na¬ 
tional hall of legislation; and that the body 
was first divided in the year 1377. Conflicts 
innumerable were waged, from the earliest 
days of English history, between the people, 
the nobles and the monarchs, often influenced, 
instigated or directed, more or less covertly 
by the priesthood, to whose interference in 
public or private affairs, directly or indirect¬ 
ly* a great part of the history of England was 
materially affected, in almost all ages, as ev¬ 
ery intelligent reader must plainly see. The 
reformation put an end to the old system : 
but some of its evil features were retained, 































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































*104 


THE BOSTON WATERWORKS. 


| which have ever since exerted unhappy in¬ 
fluences in parliament and on the nation. 
Among these are the church establishment 
and the civil power of ecclesiastics. Under 
I the dispensations of Divine Providence good 
; often results from evil; and the dictatorial 
! spirit of the English bishops, proceeding to 
persecution, soon commissioned the pilgrims 
to lay the foundation of a new republic on 
Plymouth rock. 

Such reflections as these, and others, in an 
endless train, naturally crowd into the mind 
of an American, as he stands to contemplate 
the site of the British parliament. 


THE BOSTON WATERWORKS. 

This noble monument of the liberal enter¬ 
prise of Boston in everything conducive to 
the general health or comfort of its citizens, 
was briefly noticed in a previous article on 
the first settlement of that city. But the pre¬ 
scribed limits and general design of that ar¬ 
ticle did not permit that detailed description 
of this gigantic work which its merits would 
justify. The following well-written descrip¬ 
tion of a “ visit to the waterworks,” was 
published in the Boston Daily Advertiser, by 
permission of the gentleman to whom it was 
! addressed. It furnishes much information in 
; relation to the aqueduct, particularly the 
i more distant portion of it. We cheerfully 
1 give it a place, confident that its interest will 
: amply vindicate its insertion. 

Boston, Nov. 3 , 1848. 

Dear Sir: You ask me to give you some 
account of a day among the waters , and I do 
so with grent pleasure, for it was a day of 
deep interest and perfect satisfaction. 

You know that I was not originally in fa- 
i vor of the project, when first started, of 
bringing lake or river by an artificial channel 
into this city of springs and water-brooks, be¬ 
cause the necessity for it was not obvious, 
i while the cost was certain, and in the then 
! condition of our city, somewhat alarming. 

I But the condition of things greatly changed. 

I The city grew more populous, and pure water 
less abundant. There was a more pressing 
want, and much larger ability to meet it. It 
was a gigantic effort to be sure, but it com¬ 
ported with the enterprise, the energy and 
the wealth of our community ; and I joined 
heart and hand with the gallant company, 
when in August, 184G, the city government 
commenced its first operations at the lake. 
Two years and two months only have elapsed 
and the water is here. We have seen it 
throwing itself eighty feet in the air, in a 
form of inimitable strength and beauty, and 


flowing in a quiet and regular stream under 
the eaves of one of our principal hotels, at 
nearly the highest habitable residence in the 
city. 

It is here—in a time so surprisingly short, 
that they who were fearful it would never be 
brought here at all, are compelled to give a 
new direction to their inquietude, and to dis¬ 
trust the permanency and solidity of the con¬ 
duit by which it is conducted to our dwellings. 

Let me assure you that, so far as my hum¬ 
ble judgment may be of any value, the work 
has been brought to its present successful and 
speedy result by the exercise and the develop¬ 
ment of high scientific and profound artistical 
skill, and owes the rapidity of its progress to 
a combination of intellectual and physical 
powers, which will be as honorable to our 
community as are the enterprise and liberality 
in which it was projected. 

I have had some opportunity of seeing many 
similar operations, but none with which this 
will not compare very favorably, whether the 
comparison be made in regard to the time, 
the labor, or the skill. 

In regard to the expense, it becomes one to 
speak with less decision until the accounts 
are all posted—but it is most obvious that so 
far as the w T orks meet the eye of an observer 
he will not fail to admire the judicious com¬ 
bination of strength and beauty with an ele¬ 
gant taste that does justice to the laudable 
pride of our people, and with a severe and 
classic simplicity which has wasted nothing 
in superfluous ornament. 

It was on one of the finest mornings of our 
Indian summer that a ride of an hour in the 
cars of the Worcester railroad brought me to 
the margin of Lake Cochituate, and to an ac¬ 
quaintance with the intelligent superintendent 
of the works there—Mr. Sickles. The mar¬ 
gin of this beautiful sheet of water is cleared 
of its under-brush and vegetable matter, and 
the bright and pellucid stream seemed to in¬ 
dicate the utility for which it is destined. 
Great labor has necessarily been bestowed 
upon the grounds, so as to give a proper rise 
to the water, which passes to its new destina¬ 
tion through receptacles covered by a stone 
gatehouse, in which these are contained. 
A coffer-dam which had been built at con¬ 
siderable expense for the purpose of construct¬ 
ing these receptacles was in process of being 
removed, and much of the under-ground con¬ 
struction will be for ever out of sight. 

I am not aware that there is anything pecu¬ 
liar in these constructions at the lake. Yet 
here as everywhere else in the course, science 
had its high duty both in giving a proper di¬ 
rection and descent to the stream, in antici¬ 
pating and guarding against accidents, and 
preserving the current in a continuous flow, 








































THE BOSTON WATERWORKS. 495 


so that when, by time or chance, renovation 
or repair may be required, it may be readily 
made. Unskilful men had surmised that even 
here there was a great fault and that the 
water would either not flow at all, or flow too 
slowly on its way. The first experiment 
proved the correctness of the judgment of the 
engineers, and demonstrated also that a swift¬ 
er course would have diminished the height 
to which the water would rise in the city, 
besides endangering the safety of the aqueduct. 
All here is stone or iron. No less durable 
material is admitted, and ages long as those 
in which this water has slept in its tranquil 
bed must again revolve, before, by the com¬ 
mon occurrences of time, these works will be 
subject to decay. My attention was drawn to 
the mighty power which man must hold in his 
hand over so great a volume of waters when 
he sends them on a new destination; I was 
attracted to a consideration of the resistless 
force which even this quiet lake exercises 
over the tributary stream that is drawn from 
it during all the long errand on which it is 
sped; and how this force is measured, meted 
out and controlled by those contrivances of 
human intelligence which is a gift to man from 
the goodness of its Creator, and I assure you 
of the gratification I felt at that vast exercise 
of genius which thus comes in competition 
with Nature herself and makes her established 
laws obedient to the welfare of our race. 

The water after leaving the lake is carried 
in an underground aqueduct eight miles to the 
margin of Charles river. The stupendous 
labor of this grand construction from the lake 
to the river is now in a great measure for ever 
buried up, but the inequalities of the natural 
surface of the earth show you where it is car¬ 
ried below and where, notwithstanding its 
regular and gradual descent, it rises above 
the common highway. There are two re¬ 
markable points of elevation, one where the 
aqueduct is carried over the county road upon 
a stone arch spanning the road from side to 
side—the other where it arrives at the margin 
of Charles river and is made to descend and 
rise again through two inverted siphons, the 
capacity of which is large enough for the re¬ 
quired supply of the estimated population of 
our city for twenty years. A provident fore¬ 
cast has prepared the means of adding, at 
comparatively small expense, one third more 
to the present means, whenever it is required. 
On each side of the river, where these siphons 
are connected with the aqueduct, are gate 
houses of stone, within which are such ar¬ 
rangements as enable the surperintendent to 
control the reception and delivery of the wa¬ 
ter, in part or in whole, at his pleasure; and 
below the bridge a waste weir enables him to 
turn its whole current into Charles river when¬ 


ever it is desirable to inspect the interior of 
that dark channel through which the lake is 
now taking its gentle but compulsive course. 

It was my object to examine these ingeni¬ 
ous and curious constructions, in which sci¬ 
ence and mind triumph over inert matter and 
control the elements even in their rage. Un¬ 
der the care and with the aid of the chief en¬ 
gineer, Mr. Chesbrough, I had the most fa¬ 
vorable opportunity for a critical and efficient 
inspection, with every means of illustration 
necessary for the purpose, and I sat down 
with an intention of giving y k »u the details of 
contrivances so simple that they seem per¬ 
fectly easy, and so efficient that they are 
completely successful, and yet withal are ab¬ 
solutely the result of a deep knowledge of the 
laws of hydrodynamics in all their extent and 
modern improvement; but I feel that, with¬ 
out models or diagrams, it would be impossi¬ 
ble to give you a clear impression of the ex¬ 
ceeding beauty of the design or success of the 
execution—and you must either go yourself 
with the advantages which I had, and exam¬ 
ine the construction with your own eyes, or 
take my word for it that not Boston only but < 
Massachusetts and New England will ie 
proud of this structure as one of the noblest 
monuments of civil architecture existing in , 
the country.—The resident engineer intrusted 
with the immediate direction of this portion 
of the work, was Mr. M‘Kean. 

In addition to the parts of the work of 
which I have already spoken, there are sev¬ 
eral waste weirs, four I think, with suitable 
neat stone buildings to protect and preserve 
them. You understand by a waste weir a 
construction to let off', by a lateral outlet, any 
quantity of water which rises in the aqueduct 
above an ascertained level, and by which also 
the water may be lowered beneath the stan¬ 
dard level whenever circumstances may re¬ 
quire. 

These are constructed with great care and 
skill of stone and iron materials, and the gates 
are moved with surprising ease in their grooves, 
by cranks operated by hand at the surface of 
the ground. 

They present a handsome appearance on 
the road, and are admirably well adapted to 
their purpose. 

Of the two reservoirs beyond the limits of 
the city proper, and the huge and yet unfin¬ 
ished structure within it, nothing need be ad¬ 
ded to the general remarks made on the whole 
line of work. They are built for posterity, 
for ages of future time, when the country and 
its inhabitants shall have changed in all its 
institutions and character; and travellers, in 
some far-away centuries yet to come, will 
look upon these gigantic ruins of a lost people 
as the present generation admire the vast tu- 












THE BOWLING-GREEN. 


496 


muli of tlie western states, without knowing 
by whom or for what purpose they were 
built. Governments may be overturned—gen¬ 
erations of men may fail—the race may dis¬ 
appear from its original place on the globe ; 
but the monuments of human skill, and the 
accomplishments of human intellect outlive 
the records of history and the ravages of time. 

The object of all this labor and expense is 
not to bring merely water, but pure water— 
water fit for the comfort, the wants, the health 
and the luxury of the masses—water which 
may be drank without injury, and in which 
men, women, and children, may wash and be 
clean. 

Such was the water of this peninsula in the 
days of Blackstone, when he lived in a solitary 
house not far from “ Fountain Basin.” It has 
long ceased to be so with a great part of the 
water in daily use. Such deterioration is 
common in a crowded and growing city. The 
new stream is now pure at its source, and 
may be kept so. Care is taken to preserve 
its crystal character from all manner of stain. 
Its sources will be supplied from the heavens, 
and it will flow safely to and from the bosom 
of the lake. It comes from a depth not reach¬ 
ed by superficial impurities, and is covered in 
its progress from everything that defileth. 

Such is this great blessing for which we 
owe so much to Heaven, and, by the blessing 
of Heaven, are much indebted to man. There 
has been a great duty imposed on those who 
have the oversight of this immense work. It 
has involved an amount of labor of mind, of 
responsibility and care, beyond the proportion 
of ordinary public service. 

In this country there was great want of 
practical experience on such subjects, and the 
science itself everywhere needed the sanction 
of success to confirm its most plausible theo¬ 
ries. Sleepless nights and watchful days 
have been devoted to its accomplishment, and, 
thus far, not only without any serious mis¬ 
take, but with the proudest satisfaction of 
overcoming seen and unseen difficulties, and 
bringing the whole design to the happiest re¬ 
sult. 

It is to be hoped that the future participa¬ 
tion of this copious stream will confirm all the 
blessings it is expected to bring with it. 

Very truly, Your Friend, C-. 

An allusion is made in the early part of the 
above letter to the beautiful fountain, springing 
from what has long been familiarly known as 
the “ Frog-pond,” on the Common. This 
fountain is composed of several jets, all of 
them of great beauty, but the grandest and 
most admired is a jet of six inches in diame¬ 
ter, rising gracefully from the surface of the 
pond, and throwing a brilliant silver column 
of water to the height of eighty feet. No 


shaft of polished marble can equal this col- j 
umn in beauty, nor the softest down of the i 
most graceful feather compare in delicacy to 
its fall, when the water turns from the sum¬ 
mit and descends in a splendid curve, here 
and there striking the column in its descent, 
and rebounding from it in glittering sparkles, 
as if it had struck against the hardest granite. 
This jet is, probably, the largest and highest 
in the world ; it certainly is the most splen¬ 
did in New England. 


THE BOWLING-GREEN, 

A rapid increase of population, the natural 
consequence of great commercial prosperity, 
has left but few green spots to cheer the eye 
amid this artificial wilderness of brick and 
marble. Of these, the Battery, Bowling- 
Green, and the Park, are all that exist in the 
business part of the city. The peculiar beau¬ 
ties and attractions of the Battery, heightened 
as they are by local circumstances, are fam¬ 
iliar to all our citizens, and daily become a 
theme of eulogium in the mouth of every 
stranger, especially 4 of such as approach the 
city by water; and its history is too intimate¬ 
ly connected with that of our revolutionary 
struggle, to require a single remark. But the 
modest Bowling-Green (a view of which is 
given on the opposite page), is involved in 
somewhat more obscurity, from which it is 
our present purpose to rescue it; a task in 
which we feel the more interest, as there is 
some reason to hope that it may some day be¬ 
come the site of a magnificant monument, the 
ornament and pride of that seetion of the city. 

Historians inform us that in the year 1620, 
King James I. gave the Hutch permission to 
build some cottages on the banks of the Hud¬ 
son, for the convenience of their vessels en¬ 
gaged in trade with Brazil; and that, under 
this license, they settled a colony, and erected 
a strong fort on the southwestern point of the 
island Manhattan. This fortress was called 
Fort Amsterdam, which was indeed the name 
given by these first settlers to the whole 
island. But more than half a century after¬ 
ward, when the English had by treaty obtain¬ 
ed permanent possession of the country, the 
name of the colony -was changed to New York, 
in honor of the original patentee, the duke of 
York, brother to Charles II. Whether the 
fort was altered, improved, or entirely rebuilt, 
by the English, we are not informed; but ear¬ 
ly in the reign of George I. we find a fortress, 
on the same site, denominated Fort George, 
within the walls of which was the governor’s 
residence, the secretary’s office, and a house 














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498 THE BOWLING-GREEN. 


of worship, called the King’s chapel; which 
buildings, together with an extensive range 
of barracks and stables outside the walls, were 
all destroyed by fire at the commencement 
of the celebrated negro plot, in the year 1741. 

Fort George stood at the lower extremity 
of Broadway, on a commanding eminence, 
which has since been levelled; its former site 
being now partially occupied by a row of 
handsome brick buildings, south of the Bowl¬ 
ing-Green, and fronting on State street. The 
original position of the southwest bastion of 
this celebrated citadel was designated, not 
many years since, by a marble monument, 
erected for that purpose, near the centre of 
the Battery promenade. Why a landmark 
of so much interest to the antiquary and his¬ 
torian has been since removed or destroyed, 
we are at present unable to say ; we only 
know that “ it was, and is not.” 

In front of the fort was an open field, where 
the colonial soldiers used to parade, and which, 
from its proximity to a market, was subse¬ 
quently denominated “MarketField.” Hence 
the derivation of Marketfield street, recently 
and more appropriately changed, by the cor¬ 
poration of this city, to that of Battery place. 
This field was first enclosed with a plain pale- 
fence, of irregular oblong figure ; which, ly¬ 
ing directly in front of the fort, was anything 
but an ornament to the eye of those who ap¬ 
proached the governor’s mansion within the 
walls. A part of this field now constitutes 
the Bowling-Green, which derived its appel¬ 
lation from having been appropriated, as a 
place of amusement, to the game of “ bowls,” 
more commonly called “ nine-pins.” 

During the riotous proceedings which took 
place in almost every part of the country, in 
opposition to the celebrated stamp-act, this spot 
was selected by the whigsof New York for the 
scene of one of their patriotic achievements. 
On the first of November, in the year 1765, 
the day on which the noxious act was to go 
into operation, a great concourse of people 
assembled in the evening, proceeded to Fort 
George, took out the governor’s carriage, and 
after drawing it through the principal streets, 
marched to the common (the present Park) 
where a gallows had been previously erected, 
on which they suspendeed his effigy, having 
in his right hand a stamped bill of lading, and 
in his left a figure intended for the devil. 
After it had hung for a considerable time, 
they carried it, together with the appendages 
and the gallows, in procession, the carriage 
preceding, to the gate of the fort, and thence 
to the Bowling-Green; where, under the 
very muzzles of the guns of the fort, they 
burnt the whole, amid the acclamations of 
some thousands of spectators. Ten boxes of 
stamps, which arrived afterward were com¬ 


mitted to the flames, on the same spot, by the 
indignant populace. 

In the year 1771, the present ellipsis was 
laid out, and enclosed with an iron railing; 
which, on regulating the streets, after the 
revolution, was elevated with its stone foun¬ 
dation, about eighteen inches. The railing 
is said to have cost eight hundred pounds, or 
two thousand dollars, which, in those days of 
simplicity and economy, was no inconsiderable 
sum. The original design of this enclosure 
was the protection of an equestrian statue of 
George III. made of bronze and gilt; which, 
four days after the Declaration of Independ¬ 
ence, was prostrated by the boisterous patriots 
of those times. The pediment of Bhode 
Island marble, with its defaced inscription, 
remained on the spot until within a few years. 

This beautiful area has recently been occu¬ 
pied by a Croton fountain. The unsightly 
pile of rocks attached to it, however, was 
deemed such a blemish that the common 
council ordered its removal. Whether it will 
be replaced by a fountain whose necessary 
fixtures may prove a greater embellishment, 
or be appropriated to borne other purpose, we 
know not. At any rate it is highly suscepti¬ 
ble of improvement and embellishment, and 
must, sooner or later, claim the attention of 
our corporation to that end. While the royal 
statue occupied its centre, it was justly con¬ 
sidered a great ornament to that part of the 
city. May we not hope to see the deficiency 
supplied by an equestrian statue of the father 
and savior of his country. 

In the view which accompanies this de¬ 
scription, is included part of Broadway on 
the right, and the buildings before alluded to 
on the left. Between these is seen a small 
section of the battery and a bird’s eye glimpse 
of the bay in the distance. We think it will 
be acknowledged a faithful delineation, and 
highly ornamental to the present volume. 

Something for all. —So various are the 
appetites of animals that there is scarcely 
any plant which is not chosen by some and 
left untouched by others ; and that which cer¬ 
tain animals grow fat upon others abhor as 
poison. Hence no plant is absolutely poison¬ 
ous, but only respectively. Thus the spurge, 
that is noxious to man, is wholesome nourish¬ 
ment to the caterpillar. That animals may 
not destroy themselves for want of knowing 
this law, each of them is guarded by such a 
delicacy of taste and smell that they can easily 
distinguish what is pernicious from what is 
wholesome ; and when it happens that differ¬ 
ent animals live on the same plants, still one 
kind always leaves something for the other, as 
their mouths take different "hold—by which 
means there is sufficient food for all. 















BIOGRAPHY OF THE REV. SPENCER H. CONE, D. D. 499 


BIOGRAPHY OF THE 

REV. SPENCER H. CONE, D. D. 

PASTOR OF THE FIRST BAPTIST CHURCH, N. Y. 

Spencer H. Cone was bora in Princeton, 
New Jersey, April 30,1785. He is therefore 
in his 64th year. At 14 years of age he was 
in the junior class of the college in his native 
town, and left college at that age to take 
charge of a school in Springfield, Burlington 
County, New Jersey. He was next engaged 
as Latin and Greek teacher in the Bordentown 
academy, then under the care of the Rev. Dr. 
Allison, and from that post was transferred to 
the Philadelphia academy, under Dr. Aber¬ 
crombie, where he remained till he was 21. 
He had now been engaged as a teacher for 
seven years without intermission. During 
this time he had been even remarkable, as 
indeed his early employment as a teacher 
would indicate, for his sobriety, manliness, and 
perseverance. He was never a young man 
about town, poor and friendless, as published 
in a late popular periodical; and which has 
been widely extended by being transferred to 
the columns of several religious newspapers. 
On the contrary, the youthful days of Dr. Cone 
were entirely free from all vicious associations 
and doubtful principles. He was a young 
man of unquestionable standing in social life, 
and of invariably upright, and regular charac¬ 
ter, and habits. When he determined to go 
upon the boards, he had never spent an hour 
in the society of actors, nor was he at that 
time personally acquainted with a single in¬ 
dividual of that profession. The details we 
here present to our readers may be relied upon 
for their literal accuracy. 

At the age of 21, with a liberal education, 
an unblemished reputation, and with a mother 
and her family principally dependent on him 
for support, he found it necessary for him to 
earn more than $400 or $500 per year. Judge 
Leib, with whom he had studied law for a 
year, urged him to make the law his profes¬ 
sion. Dr. Abercrombie pressed him to study 
for the ministry. But a present support was 
needed, and young Cone turned to the stage. 
Dr. Abercrombie, although opposed to his 
young friend’s purpose, gave him a letter to 
Mr. Warren, the manager of the Philadelphia 
theatre, and afterward attended the rehearsal 
of Barbarossa, Mr. Cone playing Acmet. This 
he did that he might give him the opinion of 
a friend , as to the probabilities of his success 
as an actor, and because he was not willing 
that he should resign his situation in the Phil¬ 
adelphia academy, until a place commanding 
a larger salary should be secured. 

Those who know Dr. Cone will not doubt 


that he succeeded. His talents and acquire¬ 
ments, his figure and voice, his high bearing 
and energy, fitted him admirably for the voca¬ 
tion which he had chosen, and Mr. Warren 
gave him an engagement which produced 
the young actor more than $1,000 the first 
year. From this time his compensation was 
steadily increased. His last engagement was 
at the rate of thirty dollars per week, with 
two benefits, one in Philadelphia and another 
in Baltimore. He succeeded as well, and 
made as much money as he anticipated. He 
had never loved the profession—indeed he had 
never in his life seen a dozen plays performed 
when he went upon the stage. From the 
first it had been with him a mere business 
aflair, and in 1812 he left it, to engage in pur¬ 
suits more congenial to his tastes, and more 
in harmony with the principles in which he 
had been educated—first in the large printing 
establishment of the Baltimore American, and 
then as one of the proprietors of the Baltimore 
Whig. His connexion with these papers con¬ 
tinued from 1812 to 1814, during which time 
he gave his talents and energies to the then 
exciting matters of politics and war. Here 
too he served as a lieutenant in the corps of 
sharp-shooters, and then as captain of the 
union artillery company. 

Early in 1814, it pleased God “ to bring 
him out of darkness into his marvellous light,” 
and on the fourth day of February of that 
year, he was baptized in the Patapsco by 
Rev. Lewis Richards, and became a member 
of the first baptist church in Baltimore. He 
made the earliest practicable arrangements 
for the sale of the whig paper and printing- 
office, and while engaged in winding up the 
affairs of the firm of Cone & Nor veil, taught 
a select school of thirty scholars. Early in 
1815, he received an appointment in the treas¬ 
ury department at Washington, and removed 
to that city. 

We now see Mr. Cone entering the sacred 
calling to which his life has from that time 
been devoted. In 1815, he was ordained to 
the work of the ministry. A young man of 
brilliant powers, for many years conspicuous 
as an actor or an editor, with the advantages 
of a wide acquaintance and social connexions 
of established respectability, he attracted im¬ 
mediate attention, and crowds hung upon his 
lips. The memory still lingers in many 
breasts, of the occasion when he arose in Dr. 
Staughton’s pulpit, in Philadelphia, in the 
midst of an immense throng who had been called 
together by the announcement of his presence, 
and as if conscious of the motives which ruled 
in their hearts, opened the service by reading, 
as only he could read, the hymn commencing 

“ The wondering world inquires to know, 

Why I should love my Jesus so!” 











500 BIOGRAPHY OF THE REV. SPENCER H. CONE, D. D. 


In December of that year, the young Chris¬ 
tian orator was elected chaplain of the house 
of representatives, and served during the ses¬ 
sion. The acquaintance with public men 
which he formed during his political and early 
ministerial life, he has to a very great degree 
maintained, and although he mingles not at 
all in political affairs, he maintains to the 
present time the democratic principles and 
sympathies of his early life. 

In 1816, he preached to the Alexandria 
baptist church and became their pastor. Dur¬ 
ing the seven years following, he travelled, 
and preached extensively in Maryland and Vir¬ 
ginia, frequently visiting Philadelphia, New 
York and other places, and finally settled with 
the Oliver street church in this city in the 
month of May, 1823, now more than twenty- 
five vears avo. 

How circumspectly he has lived during his 
long ministry in thi.^ city—how eloquently he 
has proclaimed the unsearchable riches of 
divine grace—how broadly he has made his 
influence felt in the great work of evangelizing 
the world—we need not here record. Nor 
can we without offence to him narrate the 
charity of his private life, or dwell on what 
we know of the magnanimity of his intercourse 
. with his brethren. He is passing to the line 
of patriarchs among us. He retains in a won¬ 
derful degree his strength and energy—indeed 
his eye is undimmed and his force unabated. 
Nevertheless he takes rank with the fathers. 
May the closing hours of his life be as serene 
as the mid-day was brilliant! 

That we may not fail to correct the erro¬ 
neous impressions to which we have adverted, 
we may remark in concluding this brief sketch, 
that Dr. Cone has never been without engage¬ 
ments for one week since 1799 when he left 
college ; engagements which have not only 
sustained himself but aided those who were 
dependent upon him. Industry, energy which 
never tires, have always been among his lead¬ 
ing and characteristic traits. His going upon 
the stage surprised and grieved all his friends 
at the time—and he had many friends, both 
in the church and out of it. His mother be¬ 


longed to the first baptist church, Philadel¬ 
phia, then under the pastoral care of the Rev. 
Dr. Staughton. iShe was a lady of superior 
worth, and many yet'alive remember how, 
for many long years, as regularly as the Sab- j 
bath came, she leaned upon the arm of her 
son, to wait upon the ministry of her eloquent 
and revered pastor. Mr. Cone never gave or 
felt any reason for going upon the boards ex¬ 
cept the necessity of increasing his income. 
We do not justify the reason—neither does 
he—but it is proper to state the fact. And 
so far from its being trae that his conversion 
was occasioned by his escape from the flames 
of the Richmond theatre, his first visit to that 
city was to fulfil an appointment to preach, 
and the Monumental church then stood upon 
the site of the edifice which had been the 
scene of that dreadful conflagration. 

We conclude this brief sketch, with the 
following justly-deserved tribute to his emi¬ 
nent talents and 1 usefulness, copied from one 
of our monthlies :— 

“ Dr. Cone is a great favorite, and universally 
popular, with all who visit his church ; and has long 
been celebrated and favorably known, as one of the 
principal pillars of his persuasion throughout the 
United States He has taken a great interest in the 
cause of Foreign Missions, and all the philan¬ 
thropic and Christian objects of the day, and has on 
most occasions been elected Moderator of the Na¬ 
tional Conventions of the Baptist church. For his 
exertions in the cause of human progress, and for his 
endeavors to elevate to a happier state the poor and 
friendless, the ignorant and uneducated, he has won 
1 golden opinions,’ not only from the members of his 
own church, hut from every religious denomination. 
He is, in a word, one who works not for a man, but 
for all mankind. 

“ The style of Dr. Cone is marked and striking— 
his words are well chosen, and each one is placed in 
a position where it will produce the most ‘telling’ ef¬ 
fect. His thoughts are always couched in beautiful 
language, and his sermons replete with interesting 
and instructive matter. In his manner there is a 
force and earnestness which speak, in language more 
potent than words, the emotions and feelings of his 
Soul. 

“ In 1843, a magnificent church, in the Gothic style, 
was erected by his congregation in Broome street, 
near the Bowery. Mr. Cone is beloved and re¬ 
spected by all who know him, as a highly useful 
member of society, and a pure and upright Christian.” 

















r—■— - - - ■ 

JOHN HAMPDEN. 501 

~ —--- - — _ _ ____ _• 


John Hampden’s Residence. 


JOHN HAMPDEN, 

This illustrious patriot was born in London, 
in 1594, of a very ancient family. He mani¬ 
fested an early love of letters, and was edu¬ 
cated at Magdalen college, Oxford, after 
which he studied law in the Inner Temple, 
London. In 1619, at the age of twenty-five, 
he married Elizabeth, daughter of Edmund 
Symeon, lord of the manor of Pyrton. He 
was soon after elected to parliament, and in 
1636, had the boldness, alone and unsupported, 
to resist the authority of the king in levying 
ship-money—an abuse of power which had 
been abrogated by Magna Charta. Though 
he lost his cause, the spirit and courage he 
manifested won for him unbounded popularity. 
Thus proclaimed by the people’s voice a pa¬ 
triot, he was now regarded as the leader of 
the popular party in the house of commons 
against the king. In 1637, we’find him, in 
company with Oliver Cromwell, John Pym, 
and other puritans, embarked on board a ship 
in the Thames, about to sail for America; 
but a proclamation from the king compelled 
them to abandon the design of fleeing from 
the tyrannies and persecutions to which their 
sentiments exposed them. 


In 1642, John Hampden was formally ac¬ 
cused of high treason by the king, together 
with several others of the popular leaders; 
but the commons refused to surrender the 
accused, and the king, apprehensive of dan¬ 
ger from the enraged multitude, sought safety 
in flight. On the breaking out of the civil 
war, the year following, Hampden took up 
arms in defence of the rights of the people. 
In the field he showed himself courageous, 
intrepid and active, but his career in glory 
was soon cut short by a fatal wound which he 
received on the field of Chalgrove, on the 
morning of June 18, 1643. He survived but 
a few days, but his dying words were worthy 
of his pure principles and his noble life. “O 
Lord,” he murmured, “save my bleeding 
country; have these realms in thy especial 
keeping. Confound and level in the dust 
those who would rob the people of their liber¬ 
ty and lawful prerogatives. Let the king see 
his error, and turn the hearts of his wicked 
counsellors from the malice and wickedness 
of their designs. Lord Jesus, receive my 
soul!” 

The manor-house of the patriot, in Great 
Hampden parish, is still standing, as is shown 
in our engraving. Mrs. S. C. Hall, who late- 








































JOHN HAMPDEN. 



Hampden’s Monument. 


ly visited it, thus speaks of its present ap¬ 
pearance : “ It is impossible to imagine any¬ 
thing more still than this hallowed spot, hid 
away at the back of that chalky range, the 
Chilterns, which bound on one side the 
rich vale of Aylesbury. The flower-garden, 
through which we passed, seemed as if called 
into existence by the wand of the enchanter ; 
the lingering roses, the heavy-headed dahlias, 
the bright-toned autumn flowers, looked so 
lonely in their beauty. We almost feared to 
speak in such deep solitude. A human foot¬ 
step, the bark of a dog, the song of a bird, 
the tinkle of a sheep-bell, would have been a 
relief—until we had drank deeply of the spirit 
of the place, and then, as thoughts and mem¬ 
ories crowded around us, we felt the luxuries 
of the solemn quiet, and that sound here 
would be as sacrilege. Passing a low sort 
of postern entrance, we walked beneath an 
arch, starred over by jessamine, and stood in 
front of the extensive mansion, added to and 
enlarged by various proprietors, and at one 
time displaying some goodly architecture of 
the age of Elizabeth; the stucco, as if ashamed 
of its usurpation, beginning to drop away from 
the red brick of which the house is built. 
Save the ‘natural decay’ which must progress 
in all uninhabited dwellings, we saw nothing 
that told of the ‘ ruin’ which comes of care¬ 
lessness or neglect.” 

Chalgrove field, on which Hampden re¬ 
ceived his death-wound, is about twelve miles 
from Oxford. It is a large open plain, inter¬ 
sected by cross roads, as seen in our second 
engraving. “ It was allotted in different ap¬ 
pointments some time since,” says Professor 
Fairholt, “ and the spot where the monument 
is erected was appropriated to Dr. Hampden, 
now bishop of Hereford, a descendant of the 
patriot. The monument is of brick, coated 


with stone. It is in an unfinished condition 
as far as the original design is concerned, 
which was, to have ornamented this pedestal 
with an obelisk seventeen feet high, omitted 
—for want of funds. As the pedestal now 
stands, it is about fifteen feet wide on each 
side. The east side has a sculptured medal¬ 
lion figure of Hampden, with his motto, 
Vestigia nulla retrorsum ; the same motto 
with his arms on the west side; the south 
side is devoted to the names of those who 
subscribed to this memorial, and is dated 
‘June 18, 1843.’ The north side has a long 
inscription, setting forth that ‘ this stone was 
raised in reverence to his memory,’ in the 
‘ two hundredth year’ from the day on which 
he received his death-wound. It is a poor 
and paltry affair ; conferring a renown by no 
means enviable upon the wealthy noblemen 
and gentlemen who erected a miserable monu¬ 
ment and left it unfinished.” 


Let those who dare stigmatize the most im¬ 
portant of all pursuits, by insinuating that 
there is no connexion between the cultivation 
of the earth and that of the mind, deny, if 
they can, these truths: “ Matters of in¬ 
quiry on subjects connected with agriculture 
are absolutely as boundless as the physical 
history of the earth which we inhabit. Ev¬ 
ery year is making new discoveries in the 
diversities of soil—of the elements of which 
it is composed—of the quantity of the dif¬ 
ferent parts-which enter into the composition 
—of the growth of plants—of what they 
owe to the air or to the elements of which 
it is formed—to the light or to its elements— 
to electricity, and all the agencies in vegeta¬ 
tion by which, in the wonderful laboratory 
of Nature, the grain produces fruit after its 
kind, and the small seed becomes a great tree.” 

















































APPROBATION. 


503 


. APPROBATION. 

To obtain praise, distinction, or eclat, in 
some of their many forms, is unquestionably 
one of the most prevalent motives of human 
action, although, in the judgment of the 
moralist a secondary one. Undoubtedly, 
while the value of higher motives may be 
fully acknowledged, this one has not been 
created without a wise and good purpose. 
At least, we may see very clearly that it dai¬ 
ly and hourly acts beneficially, where appa¬ 
rently, no higher motive would operate at all. 
It is, besides, one of the strongest of the so¬ 
cial impulses, helping to make men mutually 
dependent, and to excite their affections to¬ 
ward each other. I am afraid it would be 
rather an unamiable world, albeit a virtuous 
one, where no one courted or cared for the 
good opinion of his neighbor. 

It is necessary, however, to discriminate, 
by nice and rigid limits, the legitimate sphere 
of praise in the social scene. To be anima¬ 
ted in all doings and sayings, all outgoings and 
incomings, merely by a calculation of the ef¬ 
fect which each movement will have in secu¬ 
ring the approbation of mortal men, would 
be deplorable. The conduct of any one so 
animated would be utter hollowness and imi¬ 
tation ; and in the garden of his mind the 
hardy plants of sterling integrity and honor, 
to speak of nothing else, would find not one 
particle of congenial soil. It is even neces¬ 
sary to be able to act, not only without any 
view to the praise of men, but with the de¬ 
liberate expectation of exciting their suspi¬ 
cion and disapprobation—for many occasions 
arise in life where we only can act well in¬ 
curring these disadvantages. The difficulty 
is to know when, and how far, acting under 
the influence of love of approbation is allow¬ 
able, and to distinguish the proper occasions 
when higher principle demands that that ob¬ 
ject be thrown aside. We often see individ¬ 
uals acting in sach a wav as to excite deris- 
ion and blauie, in matters perfectly indiffer¬ 
ent—martyring themselves, in short, for a 
caprice or a chimera. Or they are so anx¬ 
ious to avoid the appearance of caring for 
the good opinion of their fellow-creatures, 
that they habitually, in all things, important 
and unimportant, take some absurd way of 
their own, merely because it is their own. 
These are follies which the considerate man 
holds at a distance from him. On the other 
hand, those who act too exclusively for 
praise are equally liable to both censure and 
ridicule. There is, in the first place, the 
fawning and fussy manner, the too much 
bowing, and smiling, and wringing of the 
hands, the over-eagerness to give satisfaction 
—all conveying the impression of a want of 




manliness, natural dignity, and independence. 
Then there is the utter inability of such a 
person to face any matter of principle that is 
unpopular, or perhaps that has popular sup¬ 
port only. The perfection of conduct in 
this respect would be to entertain a moderate 
wish to stand well with the world, and to 
act generally with a regard to its opinion, 
particularly in all minor matters, and where 
no important principle is concerned; but to 
be ready, when any occasion arose, to act 
independently of a regard to the immediate 
approbation of the world. 

Some persons have, from nature or the 
conditions in which they live, so active a love 
of approbation that it may almost be said to 
amount to a torment. It will scarcely be be¬ 
lieved, yet it is strictly true, that a man 
high in position and public respect was liable 
to be disconcerted for a day, if by chance 
any stranger whom he met cast what he 
thought a discourteous or supercilious look at 
him. This individual shrunk from society, 
for no other reason that could be observed, 
than that he did not in general obtain that 
flattering attention which was necessary to 
put him at ease with himself. He was mis¬ 
taken by half of his fellow-townsmen for a 
proud and distant man, when his misfortune 
was only the want of a self-sustaining pride. 
There are professions peculiarly calculated to 
nourish this slavish dependence on praise and 
admiration, particularly those which may be 
called artistic, as that of the painter, the lit¬ 
erary man, and, more than all, of the actor. 
Love of approbation is unquestionably a 
powerful prompter toward these professions, 
so that it may be presumed of most men who 
adopt them, that they begin with a stock of 
the feeling above the average. To this the 
actual dependence of their status and bread 
on popular applause, and their constantly act¬ 
ing with a view to obtain it, give an unusual 
degree of exercise. It is thus brought to be 
the master-feeling of their character. They 
gloat upon laudatory criticisms, and sicken at 
a paragraph insinuating the least censure. A 
hiss goes to the player’s heart like a death¬ 
blow ; and the poet’s soul, that fiery particle, 
is, strange to say, “ snuffed out by an article.” 
Hence that irritability of poets which has 
become proverbial, but which might be ex¬ 
tended to all kinds of men who present fine- 
intellectual productions to the public, witlii a 
view to obtaining praise. Worst of all, the 
excessive keenness of each man for praise to 
himself is very apt to raise a jealousy as to 
the praises bestowed on his brethren in art. 
Hence the dreadful wars which sometimes 
take place among musicians, the quarrels of 
authors, and so forth. It is painful to think 
of the bad feelings which have been called 










APPROBATION. 


504 


forth, first and last, among men of the high¬ 
est intellectual attainments, through this 
cause. It is a cause which may be received 
as some apology to the rest of mankind for 
the horrible contentions of the ingenious; but 
the ingenious should also be aware that tal¬ 
ents may be exerted for reasons superior even 
to a generous love of praise. The practice 
of the art itself—the high privilege of being 
able to excogitate line thought and beautiful 
forms that may hap to live for ever—the 
sense of being able to contribute in some 
small degree to the improvement of mankind, 
or to the alleviation of the sick and weary 
days which many are destined to endure— 
may be mentioned among these reasons. 
Akenside has expressed the love of the ar¬ 
tist (using this word in an extended sense) for 
glory, in two stanzas shot like bolts straight 
from the heart, on hearing a sermon against 
that favorite object of human wishes :— 

“Come, then, tell me, sage divine, 

Is it an offence to own 
That our feelings e'er incline 
Toward immortal glory's throne ? 

For with me nor pomp nor pleasure, 
Bourbon’s might, Braganza’s treasure, 

So can Fancy’s dream rejoice, 

To conciliate Reason’s choice, 

As one approving word of her delightful voice. 

“ If to spurn at noble praise, 

Be the passport to thy heaven. 

Follow thou those gloomy ways— 

No such thought to me was given ; 

Nor, I trust, shall I deplore me, 

Faring like my friends before me, 

Nor a better place desire 
Than Timoleon’s arms require, 

Or Tully’s curule chair, or Milton’s golden lyre !” 

Here speaks the true poet. Such earnest 
and such natural feeling must everywhere 
meet sympathy. Yet if the divine only 
placed this said love of the “ approving word” 
below some higher motives, we can not but 
acknowledge, in sober reason, that he was 
right. 

It is almost as nice a matter to know how, 
when, and in what measure, to give praise, as 
to act upon the just medium with respect to 
looking for and receiving it. Some never 
give any praise ; that is unamiable. Others 
give a great deal too much; that may be 
something as bad. The characters of both, 
the party who is in the way of praising, and 
the party who is in the way of being praised, 
call for consideration before we judge of ei¬ 
ther. The habit of never or rarely giving 
praise, even where it is due and might do 
good, may proceed from a coldness of nature, 
and will then be justly censurable ; but it 
may be only the result of reserved and diffi¬ 
dent habits, in which case it is to be excused ; 
or it may be the effect of a deliberate convic¬ 


tion that all praise does harm, when, of 
course, we must set it down as an error of 
judgment. The opposite extreme of too 
much and too frequent praise—in short, flat¬ 
tery, detested as the word is—is also not to 
be at once and conclusively condemned. 
When it arises from directly interested views, 
or aims only at playing on a weak point in 
the character of a fellow-creature, there is 
not a w'ord to be said in arrest of judgment; 
but flattery sometimes proceeds from a be¬ 
nevolent, although it may be injudicious, 
wish to give pleasure; sometimes it is the 
genuine result of a venerative over-estima¬ 
tion of its object, or an exaggerated notion of 
the merits to which it refers. Here there 
may be error, but there is not ill intention; 
and flattery given under such circumstances 
is obviously a very different thing from the 
flattery which aims at betraying or turning 
into ridicule. There is also a flattery which 
persons of a social disposition, and who them¬ 
selves love praise, give to others, in order to 
be on good terms with them, and obtain a 
good opinion and effusion of friendly senti¬ 
ment in return. Here the motive is not so 
good, but still it is far short of the depravity 
of a treacherous and derisive flattery. When 
we are, then, the objects of flattery, or wit¬ 
ness its being administered to others, we 
would require to examine and consider well 
the character and circumstances of the per¬ 
son offering it, in order to judge if the act be 
an offence against good morals; and if so, 
how far it is so. If it appear to proceed 
from base motives, let it be treated with open 
contempt; if from the wish for a return, pass 
it as a weakness ; if from good nature or ex¬ 
cessive veneration, excuse it for the sake of 
its amiable source. 

But to praise or not to praise, when praise 
is deserved, there is the great question. It 
has of late been the favorite doctrine not to 
praise, or to praise little, as presuming that 
all, young and old, should be left to the ap¬ 
proving voices of their own consciences, or 
the reward which good acts and performed 
duties are to themselves. Good-breeding al¬ 
so forbids all approach to direct compliment, 
probably because it is so apt to pass for flat¬ 
tery, which is so bad a thing. It is rather 
startling that these maxims are not consist¬ 
ent with much of the practice of the world. 
Every day we read of knighthoods and peer¬ 
ages given for good state service. Success¬ 
ful authors are treated to sheets of incense in 
the reviews, and to public dinners at which 
praises are poured on their meek heads like 
the oil on Aaron’s beard. If a policeman 
show unusual cleverness in tracking out a 
culprit, or a revenue-cutter in capturing a 
smuggler, or a post-captain in seizing a slaver, 









































APPROBATION. 


505 


the virtue of the case is not left to be its own 
reward. Medals, prizes, and terras of hon¬ 
or, abound in our schools ; and even divines 
are not unwilling to receive a title to certain 
mystic initials showing degrees of proficien¬ 
cy in their sacred science. When all thesa 
things are so open and palpable, when, in¬ 
deed, it is so clear that most public alFairs 
are moved by considerations of honor to indi¬ 
viduals, it seems a strange thing, little better, 
I fear, than a piece of affectation, to declare 
against all use of praise in private life. 
There is always something calling for suspi¬ 
cion in maxims or systems which altogether 
condemn and put aside some great and con¬ 
spicuous feature of human nature. This 
maxim as to praise bears strong marks of be¬ 
ing of that character. Praise is confessedly 
a universal object, and has been so from the 
beginning of the world. Why should it be- 
considered wrong to give that which every¬ 
body is more or less anxious to receive ? 
There may be something in the manner, no 
doubt; and yet what can be grosser, in point 
of taste, when it is seriously reflected on, 
than to bring a man to a pubiic dinner, plant 
him beside the chairman, open out a cascade 
of flattery upon him, and expect him then to 
rise up und task his ingenuity in at once ex¬ 
plaining away the attributed merits, and 
seeming sufficiently grateful for the compli¬ 
ment which has been paid to him ? 

The true rationale of the question seems to 
be this: with the generality of natures, a 
moderate use of praise, as an incentive to du¬ 
ty and reward for its performance, appears to 
be quite proper. There is a vast class of 
acts and duties which, though good, are not 
to be accomplished and attended to without 
laborious exertion and some small degree of 
self-denial. To sustain and carry out one’s 
self in these matters, one’s own approving 
conscience is all very well; but though a 
good, it is a solitary and unsocial feeling. 
Man dearly loves to find that he is of some 
consequence to man. He likes to take men 
along with him in his own approbation, He 
feels in their praise the bond of a common 
nature press delightfully upon his heart. 
How, otherwise, should we see persons in 
independent circumstances “shun delights 
and live laborious days,” only, perhaps, that 
they may produce some literary work which 
will have its little hour of eclat, or only a 
paper to be read at a meeting of twenty per¬ 
sons calling themselves a philosophical socie¬ 
ty ? This cheap means of causing people to 
do what it is desirable that they should do, 
surely has its legitimate place in the arrange¬ 
ments of human society, and is capable of be¬ 
ing used without necessarily producing harm. 
Perhaps there is not any one feeling of our 


nature which more effectually binds us to¬ 
gether, or figures more largely in the hourly 
familiar pleasures of life. It is necessary, 
however, to study character very carefully, j 
in order to give due praise without doing ' 
harm, and even to know how to use it for the j 
production of positive good. A proud per- ! 
son requires little or none at any time. Suf- j 
ficient for him is his own self-satisfaction. ! 
There are many whom praise would easily j 
corrupt, and to whom it should therefore be j 
sparingly administered, even when their acts j 
are most laudable. Others, again, whose? i 
confidence in themselves is infirm, may need 
the administration of an occasional word of 
approbation to encourage them in their duties, 
and even to maintain the equable flow of their 
spirits. There is a class of such persons, 
who have the ability and inclination to do all 
that is good, but are liable to become dispirit¬ 
ed if they do not now and then receive an en¬ 
couraging word from those about them. For 
such persons, an occasional compliment is an 
aliment as necessary as daily bread. The : 
world would to them be totally cheerless with¬ 
out it. Here it would evidently be as fatal j 
to withhold praise altogether, as in other j 
cases it would be to give it. 

England. —Our talented and eloquent Dr. 
Baird, says in one of his lectures :—“ There 
is enormous wealth there, and resources are 
most unlimited for increasing it. Many sup¬ 
pose that England has seen her best days, but 
Dr. Baird could not concur in this opinion. 
True, there is embarrassment and distress 
there, but that is temporary. The nation will 
recover from it and still advance. 

“Education in Scotland is very thorough. 
Her school system has been about as long in 
operation as that of Massachusetts, and is an 
excellent one. There are one thousand par¬ 
ishes, each of which has a good school. In 
England and Ireland, primary education is 
neglected. There is no system of common 
schools, and the lower classes are profoundly 
ignorant. As regards higher education, there 
are universities at Oxford, Cambridge, and 
London, in England, and those of Edinburgh, 
Glasgow, Aberdeen and St. Andrews, in Scot¬ 
land. Theve are also King’s college, Lon¬ 
don ; Trinity college, Dublin; and a college 
at Durham, which deserve the name of uni¬ 
versities, making in all ten. Cambridge and 
Oxford universities are the largest, the for¬ 
mer having about 1,300 and the latter about 
1,700 students. 

“ London grows rapidly. It covers an area 
eight miles by six. The present population 
is two and a half millions, and it is rapidly in¬ 
creasing. Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland, 
is the most picturesque city in Great Britain.” 









































Hindu Picture of Krishna on an Elephant composed of his Female Attendants. 




























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































KRISHNA.—SKETCH OF PEKIN. 507 

KRISHNA, 


Our engraving is taken from a picture 
highly valued by the Hindoos : it is grounded 
on one of those idle stories which are com¬ 
monly believed concerning Krishna. It is 
said that he was brought up by a herdsman, 
and that a number of damsels were his play¬ 
fellows during his infancy ; of these he chose 
nine,' .who became his companions; these 
nine damsels would group themselves into 
fantastic forms; in the engraving they are 
seen in that of an elephant, on which the god 
rides. This profligate deity is the darling god 
of the Hindoo women; the silly and impure 
tales which are told and believed concerning 
him, tend greatly to debase the people. Let 
such representation be looked on by Christians 
with pity for the folly and indignation for the 
sin with which they are connected, and with 
earnest prayer for the deliverance of mankind 
from the dominion of vice and darkness. 


A SKETCH OF PEKIN, 

Of Pekin, the capital of the Chinese em¬ 
pire, and which, from the progress of events, 
will at no distant day be an object of consid¬ 
erable attention, the following sketch has been 
written by a late traveller. It is necessary 
to premise, that the situation of Pekin is near 
40 degrees north, and therefore somewhat 
cold in winter. 

During the first few days of our residence 
in the cold dwelling-houses of Pekin, we felt 
the discomforts of our European dresses very 
severely, and made, therefore, all haste to ex¬ 
change them for Chinese habiliments. The 
divisions and sub-divisions which exist in a 
Chinese wardrobe are innumerable. Each 
change of season brings necessarily along with 
it a change of costume ; and these variations, 
fixed by custom, are as sacredly observed by 
correct* Chinese, as the laws of fashion by 
European ladies and leaders of ton ; with on¬ 
ly this difference, that here “ the mode” has 
no influence, and the cut of the father’s and 
grandfather’s clothes is quite visible in those 
of the son and grandson—nay, it may pass 
even to the great-great-grandson. In the 
shape of caps and shoes alone, an almost year¬ 
ly change takes place. Do not, however, 
su ppose that it is any exercise of choice 
whether with the alteration of the season you 
may change your dress or not—by no means; 
the appointed time arrives, and an imperial 
edict announces that on such a day, spring- 
caps must be exchanged for summer ones, or 
summer caps for autumn ones. I therefore 
arrayed myself like a genuine Chinaman. 

The first part of my stay was very tedious; 


picture to yourself a man plunged at once in¬ 
to so populous a city, into the midst of a 
swarm of people, whose manners, customs, 
and mode of life, were quite strange, and 
whose language was utterly incomprehensible 
to him, and you will be able to understand my 
position. Was I thus alone, in the midst of 
this multitude of people, to pass ten of the 
best years of my life ? Our chief drawback 
lay in the excessively difficult Chinese pro¬ 
nunciation, where one and the same sonnd, 
however simple, has its own peculiar mean¬ 
ing, according as it is pronounced in a high 
or low, in an abrupt or prolonged, tone of voice. 
For the first halt year we scarcely made any 
progress whatever; at the end of two years 
only did we begin to find our way into the se¬ 
crets of that labyrinth called the Chinese 
tongue, and fully four had elapsed before we 
were able to converse freely with the natives. 

As soon as were clothed” in complete Chi¬ 
nese costume, being very desirous to see Pe¬ 
kin, we hired cabriolets and drove through the 
streets of the capital. First we drove to the 
imperial palace, where the emperor passes 
the winter months; during the whole of the 
rest of the year he resides in a palace about 
nine miles distant from the city. The palace 
occupies an immense space, consisting of a 
multitude of one-story houses built of bricks, 
each of which has its appointed use. The 
emperor resides in one of them, in another he 
conducts the affairs of state, and in a third is 
the empress. The others are appropriated 
for his children, the widowed empress, the la¬ 
dies of the court, &c. Each division is sur¬ 
rounded by a tolerably high wall, which none 
may pass except those persons belonging to 
it. All these buildings are again surrounded 
with a general wall, the threshold of whose 
gate may only be passed by the courtiers. 
An enclosure surrounds this outer wall, where 
there are many private shops, and where ev¬ 
erybody is allowed to walk or drive. The 
palaces themselves we could not see, and only 
the yellow roofs of glazed tiles showed them¬ 
selves above the wall. Neither those streets 
in the vicinity of the palace, nor any through¬ 
out the city of Pekin, are paved. 

Without having in the least satisfied our 
curiosity, we drove from the palace through 
the street Sy-oi-lou, which, like all the other 
principal streets, is distinguished for breadth 
and regularity. The middle of each chief 
street of Pekin, consists of an embankment 
of earth raised about three feet above the rest 
of the street, for the use of light carriages 
and foot-passengers. Heavy loads, or car¬ 
riages drawn by five and seven mules, must 
drive along the narrow avenues on each side j 
of the embankment, which is a good width, 
and would be very convenient for driving up- j 












503 SKETCH OF PEKIN. 


on, were it not that there are tents and booths 
erected at each side, which confine it so much 
that two carriages can scarcely drive abreast. 
In consequence of the excessive population of 
Pekin, the streets are filled throughout the 
whole day with a double row of carriages, 
slowly progressing in opposite directions. It 
is a terrible annoyance when a foot-passenger 
happens to me^t a friend who is driving. The 
latter, according to the strict etiquette of Chi¬ 
nese politeness, must stop, alight, and in spite 
of weather or dirt, say, “How do you do?” 
and then invite his friend to accept a seat in 
the carriage. Of course the pedestrian must 
reply to this civility, and beg his acquaint¬ 
ance to proceed on his way. The owner of 
the carriage will not, however, re-enter it un¬ 
til his friend on foot shall proceed ; he in his 
turn will wait till the other resume his seat. 
The ceremony will often occupy half an hour; 
and during the whole time the carriages which 
follow must wait, there being no possibility 
of passing the one stopping up the way. 

The main streets are of a good width, but 
the side ones are so very narrow that two car¬ 
riages meeting could not possibly pass, so that 
the coachman must always call out on enter¬ 
ing one to ascertain whether any other vehi¬ 
cle is coming in the opposite direction. Ev¬ 
ery side-street had formerly a gate wherever 
it crossed either another cross or a main street, 
and many of them still remain. These gates 
were formerly closed at night by warders, 
who lived in the vicinity, and the passenger 
required a particular permission in order to 
pass it by night; now, however, this extreme 
strictness has ceased; the warder merely 
questions the nightly passenger, and even this 
occurs rarely. Owing to the custom of the 
Chinese of surrounding themselves with high 
walls, the streets of Pekin are most remark¬ 
ably uniform. On every side rise high en¬ 
closing walls, built of half-burnt gray bricks; 
everywhere peep up from behind these walls 
pointed sloping roofs, which in form and color 
are again monotonous. The imperial palace 
alone is covered with glazed green tiles, all 
the other dwelling-houses with the half-burnt 
gray-colored ones. Besides the emperor’s, 
there are not more than seven or eight prince¬ 
ly palaces. All the rest weary the gaze by 
their dust color; and the eye can rest on noth¬ 
ing which does not display the most tedious 
uniformity, unless it be the shops, which gen¬ 
erally project into the streets. Before the 
entrance of all these booths hang black 
polished boards, inscribed with thick golden 
letters ; there is not, however, any difference 
between them, and only those where confec¬ 
tions are sold are distinguished by their splen¬ 
dor. The whole of the front wall of these is 
gilt, even the roof, and adorned with dragons ! 


and other figures. The magnificence of these 
shops is the most striking, as close beside 
them one may often find a half-destroyed wall 
or a little tottering dwelling-house. There 
are no open places or gardens in Pekin; and 
the only remarkable buildings are the temples, 
which are profusely painted with vermilion 
color. 

It is a great mistake to accuse the Chinese 
of bigotry. Their temples are generally quite 
empty: here and there only, an official who 
has received a new, and, be it understood, a 
profitable, appointment, considers it his duty 
to visit all the temples in the city. On such 
an occasion he conducts himself as follows:— 
On entering, he takes with' him a bundle of 
candles, made from the bark of a tree, and of 
perfumed wood; these he lights before the 
images of the gods, prostrating himself several 
times to the ground, during which time the 
priest strikes a metal saucer with a w r ooden 
mallet. Such a pilgrim having concluded his 
prayer, throws down some money, and pro¬ 
ceeds into the second temple, thence into the 
third, and so on. Even the common people 
go only on particular occasions to the temple ; 
when, for instance, a time of great drought 
arrives, troops of peasants assemble, in the 
temple, in order to pray to their god for rain; 
and not only light candles and make prostra¬ 
tions, but bring also offerings with them, con¬ 
sisting of different sorts of bread, &c. Of a 
sincere disinterested prayer, offered from the 
heart of the suppliant, the Chinese worship¬ 
per has no conception. There are, to be sure, 
certain days every month when the temple 
is visited by the people, but then it is not 
with the intention of prayer but of business. 
Goods, such as millinery, for instance, are 
spread out in the courts of the temple ; and 
the visiters promenade from noon till evening 
among rows of sellers, who at these fairs gen¬ 
erally demand the most unreasonable prices. 
For a nephrit, for instance, a stone of a gi.i > 
green color, which is particularly esteem, 
by the Chinese, and which is used for rings, 
snuff-boxes, armlets, and such like, a sales¬ 
man demanded two hundred and fifty Ians, 
and he gave it to me for twenty-six ! (A lan is 
about four florins, or a dollar and a half). Jug¬ 
glers, also, display their tricks here ; one will 
go on his hands, another throw knives; and 
so forth. 

Toward evening the court of the temple 
becomes empty, and all is again silent until 
the following fair, with the exception of the 
priests going thrice a day to burn a small 
candle before each of the great images of the 
gods, and prostrating themselves each time to 
the earth. When the priest does not feel in¬ 
clined to fulfil this heavy duty himself (and 
| h e ra rely feels such a desire), he sends his 






















SKETCH OF PEKIN. 509 


pupil to light the candles and make prostra¬ 
tions ; but if he does not just happen to be at 
hand, a common servant does it. As for the 
rest, the candles are lighted at the proper 
times, the prostrations are made as low as 
possible, and what more can one require ? If 
the temples, however, are almost always 
empty, the houses of public entertainment, on 
the contrary, are filled with people from morn¬ 
ing till night. In the best inns, one pays a 
high price for every trifle ; so that when two 
or three of the rich young Chinese meet there, 
they easily spend in an evening fifty Ians. 
The high price is not, however, a consequence 
of the extreme dearness of the articles required, 
but of the vanity of the consumer. In gene¬ 
ral, money is here lightly regarded; every 
darling son of the heaven-protected city of 
Pekin throws down his purse almost uncount¬ 
ed. They eat all manner of expensive things, 
such as roasted ice , for instance, for a little 
plate of which one pays six Ians; it is prepar¬ 
ed as follows:—The cook puts a small bit of 
ice on a sieve made of little wands or sticks, 
into a rather liquid batter of sugar, eggs, and 
spices, and then plunges it quickly into a pan 
of boiling swine’s fat. The skill of the cook 
is shown by his bringing the dish upon the 
table before the ice be melted in the batter. 
A particularly good morsel can not be expect¬ 
ed, for when put into the mouth it burns, and 
when bitten into it is very cold. The high 
price of this dish arises from so few cooks 
being able to make it exactly as it ought to 
be. Taken in general, the Chinese dishes are 
very disagreeable to Europeans; for they 
prepare everything without salt, and, in ad¬ 
dition, float it in a superfluity of swine fat; 
and few dishes are made without ginger and 
garlic. Their roasts only are well flavored, 
and might receive the highest approbation from 
a European gastronome. 

The reason of there being such an extraor¬ 
dinary number of eating-houses in Pekin, is 
the custom the Chinese have of entertaining 
one another, not in their own homes, but in 
these establishments; relations only and the 
most intimate acquaintances being ever invited 
to dinner or supper into their houses. The 
youth also assemble in the eating-houses, and 
the seniors dine there after the theatre, for 
the theatre and dinner at a restaurant are 
amusements which are inseparably connected 
with each other. Theatrical representations 
commence at eleven in the forenoon, and con¬ 
tinue till six in the evening. In the course 
of the play, beautiful boys, who play the 
women’s parts, come into the boxes of the 
rich members of the audience, and appoint an 
eating-house, where they promise to come 
and sup with them. During supper, these 
boys choose the dishes, and usually ask for 


the most expensive, having previously agreed 
with the master of the house upon a reward 
for so doing. All these boys are richly and 
tastefully dressed, skilled in conversation, 
lively, and witty. Neither in the theatres, 
the eating-houses, nor in the temple at fair 
times, are women to be seen, but on the 
streets one meets with plenty. Women of 
the lower rank go on foot, but those who are 
at all well off drive in cabriolets. The wives 
and daughters of princes, on the other hand, 
are carried in sedans. Married as well as un¬ 
married women appear in the street with un¬ 
veiled faces, and simply arranged hair, which 
they adorn with beautiful artificial flowers. 
Even the most ragged, dirty, old cook, if she 
is only going to the door to buy a little garlic 
or cabbage, has always a flower, usually red, 
stuck among her gray locks. The dress of 
the ladies is chiefly distinguished by bright 
colors: that of the Mandschurin ladies consfsts 
chiefly in a long upper robe with immense 
sleeves. This dress quite conceals the shape; 
but the Chinese do not distress themselves on 
account of this disadvantage, as they seek for 
feminine slenderness in narrow shoulders and 
a flattened chest, on which account their 
women all bind a broad girdle over the bosom, 
which supplies the place of the European 
corsets. The dress of the true Chinese woman 
consists of red or green trousers, which are 
embroidered with many-colored silks—of 
jackets, also embroidered—with a very richly 
embroidered upper garment. 

The Chinese women are chiefly distinguish¬ 
ed from the Mandsdhurins by their feet; these 
do not spoil their feet by tight bandages, and 
wear slippers like the men, only their stock¬ 
ings are made of gay-colored stuffs, with foot 
soles not less than four inches thick. The 
Chinese women, on the contrary, bind their 
feet from five years of age with broad banda¬ 
ges, in such a way that four toes are bent un¬ 
der, and the great toe laid over them; the 
nails press into the flesh, causing almost al¬ 
ways wounds, and the unfortunate females 
suffer during their whole lives from this bar¬ 
barous custom. Not one of them can stand 
on the whole foot, and they all walk on their 
heels, on which account their walk is most 
unsightly, and they totter from side to side. 
Considerable ostentation prevails when a Chi¬ 
nese or Mandschurin lady goes abroad : an 
out-rider first appears, behind him comes a 
two-wheeled carriage drawn by a mule, the 
head and sides of which are hung with green 
or blue cloth, into the sides of which are set 
in pieces of black velvet and glass; on the 
right and left w’alk two men, holding the 
carriage with their hands, in order to prevent 
its falling over at any of the inequalities of 
the road, and behind the carriage comes an- 









510 HABITS OF THE BLUE JAY. 


other rider. As one must step into and out 
of the carriage in front, the coachman has to 
unharness his mule every time; the men who 
walk outside the carriage then turn it close 
up to the stairs, let the shafts down on the 
steps, and immediately turn their backs to the 
equipage, for, according to Chinese etiquette, 
they may not look their mistress in the face. 
The waiting-maid, who generally sits in front, 
first steps out, adjusts a little footstool, and 
i helps her lady to alight. On departing, the 
ceremony is repeated—that is, the lady and 
her maid first resume their seats, then the 
coachman harnesses his mule, and the cortege 
proceeds in its former order. The men dis¬ 
play magnificence, when they drive abroad, 
by the numbers of their followers, who often 
amount to twenty or more. But what follow¬ 
ers ! two or three are well dressed, but the 
rest are ragged and mounted on lame and 
worn-out mules. Pride, however, never al¬ 
lows a Chinaman to lessen the number of his 
attendants, although the keeping of these idle 
bands must be very expensive. The stir in 
the streets commences at break of day—that 
is, in summer at four, and in winter at six 
o’clock. The men in office first make their 
appearance going to the palace with public 
papers, and then the small dealers with eat¬ 
ables. The noise and bustle are continually 
on the increase ; by seven all the streets are 
crowded with innumerable masses of people ; 
and at nine or ten at night they retire to rest. 
At this hour the most perfect silence reigns 
through the empty streets, and here and there 
only glimmers the dim light of the paper lan¬ 
terns, which are fixed on low pillars. 


HABITS OF THE BLUE-JAY. 

This elegant bird is peculiar in North 
America, and stays with us all winter. He 
is distinguished among the bird family as a 
sort of beau, dressed in a dandy suit, and very 
vain and loquacious withal. He makes as 
many ridiculous grimaces, and cuts as queer 
antics, and gives himself as many airs, as his 
namesake without feathers. Pie is a great 
mimic, and in the domestic state can be taught 
to articulate words, and imitate the noise of 
a saw and other sounds. 

An individual of this species which was 
brought up in the family of a gentleman in 
North Carolina had many of the tricks of the 
parrot. This jay could articulate a number 
of words pretty distinctly. 

The blue-jay seems to take great delight in 
imitating the sparrow-hawk. This he does 
so perfectly as to deceive the most practised 

L. . ^.--1 - -V . = , v , 



ears. A number of jays will join in this sport 
at the same time, but they frequently pay 
dearly for their impertinence, for the hawk, 
making a sweep, will pounce upon one of the j 
foremost of his tormentors, which at once 
causes the impudent birds to change their ; 
notes for real cries of alarm. 

The blue-jay is himself a shedder of blood 
as well as the hawk. He destroys the young 
of other birds in the absence of the old ones, 
and steals the eggs of his neighbors, professing 
all the time great friendship for all of them 
by warning them of the approach of any other 
thief or plunderer, be he hawk, fox, or man. 

The jay is a most inveterate enemy of the j ! 
owl. Whenever he has discovered the re¬ 
treat of one of these wise philosophers, as if 
afraid wisdom might be infectious, he sum- i 
mons all the feathered tribe to his assistance, 
and commences a loud attack upon the grave 
bird. At first the owl deigns to take no fur¬ 
ther notice of his assailants than to look at 
them with a broad stare, as if he would say, 

“ you are not even worthy of contempt.” But 
the noise of the battle waxes louder and loud¬ 
er, and may be heard at the distance of more i 
than half a mile. The owl is at length forced | 
to take flight, when he is followed by the j 
whole train of his impudent tormentors, 
screaming to the very top of their voices, un¬ 
til he is driven far from their neighborhood. 

The blue-jay is eleven inches in length; j 
his head is ornamented with a crest of light i j 
blue or purple feathers, which he can elevate i I ( 
or depress at pleasure; the whole upper parts 1 
are light blue or purple; a collar of black ;■ 
passes down each side of the neck and forms 
a crescent on the upper part of the breast. , j 
The under parts are white. The tail is long, 
and light blue, tipped with black. j 































CHINESE STROLLING DOCTORS. 


511 


CHINESE STROLLING DOCTORS, 

The comforts and elegancies of life are of 
easy access in Cliina, and so are many of its 
plagues ; among these latter may be reckoned 
the drugs and advice of quack doctors, who 
take up their stations in any convenient spot, 
display their wares, and harangue the pop¬ 
ulace in praise of them. A cloth is spread 
upon the ground, and is strewed with small 
jars, packets neatly folded up, and a store of 
pitch plasters. Here and there are also 
strewed, in due order, long scrolls of paper 
setting forth the excellency of their art, and 
the greatness of their success. In a very few 
instances a table is substituted for the earth, 
as a platform for exhibition, and then the sel¬ 
ler seems to rise a step in medical considera¬ 
tion. The doctor usually plants himself be¬ 
hind his humble stall; and if gifted with 
speech, lectures the wondering bystanders, 
till, by dint of argument, and the witchery 
of his eloquence, those who came only to look 
and to laugh, are possessed with the most live¬ 
ly faith and credit, which they would per¬ 
chance have ridiculed in moments of greater 
sobriety. The doctors are fully aware, how¬ 
ever that novelty is an important element in 
oratorical fascination ; hence they seldom stay 
long in one place, bnt travel over many prov¬ 
inces in fetching a compass, and appear at 
the same place only after a long interval. 
One of these, who seemed to have larger en¬ 
dowments of a professional kind than the 
average of his brethren, had ranged his va¬ 
ried medicaments in front of the senate-house 
at Macao; and was engaged in a surgical 
operation. A poor fellow, who had lost his 
sight, was seated upon a stool in an attitude 
; of meekness and resignation, while the doc- 
| tor was busied in tugging at one of his ears. 
He had made an incision behind the conch, 
or free portion, and was laboring to elicit as 
much blood from the wound as friction could 
start from its hiding-place. As soon as he 
was satisfied with the result of his operation, 
he stood face to face with the patient, and 
asked, with an air of impatience, whether 
he saw the light. To this interrogatory 
the blind man replied “ No.” On this the doc¬ 
tor sat down beside him, and began to describe 
a method which would infallibly have the de¬ 
sired effect; but at the close of each well- 
finished period, the burden “ no money” (moo 
, ; tseeri) fell in with a melancholy cadence. At 
( i phis juncture, when many were looking for 
j some great thing, and the blind man’s case 
'! promised neither honor nor pence, the quick- ; 
sighted glance of the doctor lighted upon the I 
fan kwei, who was peeping from between a 
j group of persons not very conspicuous for 
their outward polish. The fan kwei wore a 


countenance of civility, which earned from 
the doctor a bow and a smile of recognition. 
After this necessary prelude, he made a few 
remarks to his hearers upon the peculiarities 
of the fan kwei’s face ; and then, with a smile 
of great complacency, went up to him and 
began to enter into the details of a phrenolo¬ 
gical analysis. He pointed out some ot the 
chief marks of distinction between a Chinese 
and a European, especially the breadth of 
the forehead, the height of the cheek-bones, 
and the form of the chin. In a Chinese, the 
forehead is narrow, the cheek-bones broad 
and high, and the chin flat; in a European, 
the forehead is broad, the cheek-bones low, 
and the chin prominent. When he had de¬ 
spatched the head and the face, he descended 
to the muscles, and firmly grasping the stran¬ 
ger’s arm, and then that of a native bystand¬ 
er, expatiated upon the difference between 
the elastic tension of the one, and the yield¬ 
ing pliancy of the other. His decision seemed 
to be that the European has the advantage 
not only in compactness of texture, but also 
in symmetry of form. In this he seemed to 
have the sympathy of his auditory ; for what¬ 
ever the Chinese may affect to think, they 
often betray their admiration of the fan kwei’s 
person. Many a time have they been seen to 
gaze at the stranger with silence and a kind 
of “ awe-struck” wonder, while their eyes 
beamed with an interest which seemed to 
say, “ A complexion so fair, and features so 
well proportioned, are things not indigenous 
in the middle nation.” This quack doctor 
had travelled much, and had consequently 
learned many things which an inquisitive 
mind can not overlook in shifting from place 
to place amid an ever-changing assortment of 
companions. He had a merry countenance, 
and a sparkling eye, which drew attention. 
His elocution was clear, and his arms moved 
wfth great pliancy to give effect to whatever 
he uttered. But his popularity was not of 
long continuance ; and so, after a few days, 
he was obliged to employ a young fellow to 
act the part of clown, and thus assemble a 
troop of gazers by drollery, when eloquence 
and skill had proved ineffectual. 

An American in China remarks : “ While 
passing through the Chinese market-place of 
Macao, I heard one of these quack rhetori¬ 
cians, addressing a circle of bystanders upon 
the proprieties of a mode of treatment he was 
just going to adopt in the case of an old man 
who was squatted close by his side. It ap¬ 
peared as if, a few seconds before my arrival, 
a bargain had been concluded between them 
nearly in these terms of reciprocity :—‘ I 
will impart to you,’ quoth the doctor, ‘ the 
full benefit of my professional skill, and you 
shall give me all the money you have got 



































512 


CHINESE STROLLING DOCTORS. 


about you for immediately upon the close 
of the harangue the old man proceeded, with 
cheerful haste, to empty his money-bag into 
the lap of the young jEsculapius, who, af¬ 
fecting to be disappointed, accused his pa¬ 
tient of concealing some of his tseen or cash, 
amid the folds of his garment; but as a com¬ 
mon man in summer is very thinly clad, a 
shake or two of his doublet satisfied the look¬ 
ers-on that all the personal effects had been 
fairly delivered up. The old man then re¬ 
tired, but soon after came back with a basin 
of water, and placed it at the feet of the doc¬ 
tor, who then took out a paper, and made him 
swallow a small quantity of whitish powder, 
w’ithout the aid of honey, treacle, or any oth¬ 
er agreeable menstruum. The effect of this 
powder was supposed to be that of rendering 
the patient incapable of feeling any pain which 
might attend the operation to be performed. 
He then drew some needles from a paper, 
with an air of grave preparation, and after 
rubbing the aforesaid powder upon his ow'n 
thigh, stuck one of the needles into it as if 
it had been a sort of pinchusion. The next 
step in the process was the selection of a few 
seeds from a paper parcel, putting them into 
his mouth, and giving the remnant to the pa¬ 
tient, as a pledge of his generosity. While 
the seeds were undergoing the process of mas¬ 
tication by themselves, he took a pair of 
wooden cylinders, and, after holding a lighted 
roll of paper within them, clapped them upon 
the breast of the old man. After they had 
remained a few minutes upon the spot, they 
were removed, and left behind them two raised 
areola, or bumps, which the doctor, after sip¬ 
ping a little water, rubbed with the seeds, by 
this time well reduced by maceration and 
grinding. He next pricked the bumps with 
the needle which had been all the while stick¬ 
ing in his own flesh. To extract the blood, 
he applied his mouth, and drew with such 
violence, that the old man began to heave a 
sigh, and the crowd to respond by a look of 
anxiety. All the while he pressed his hands 
upon the neighborhood of the spot, as if he 
wished to make the blood flow in that direc¬ 
tion. After the ceremony of washing the 
mouth, he applied a pitch plaster between the 
areola., and proceeded to treat the back after 
the same sort. Here was a sample of ‘ much 
ado about nothing;’ when to have made one 
or two incisions with his knife, and then ap¬ 
plied one of these cylinders, or cupping ves¬ 
sels over them, with a roll of lighted paper 
within it, would have caused a gush of blood, 



and rendered the poor fellow a real service.” 
“ Among the persons who figure in the list 
of itinerant doctors, I may reckon one who 
dealt in antidotes against the bite of serpents. 
He had selected a very ingenious mode of 
proving the efficacy of the drug, and which 
did not fail to carry conviction to the mind of 
every one who had the happiness to view the 
procedure. A large hooded snake, or cobra 
copella , was treated as a kind of imp or fa¬ 
miliar by its master, who held it in his hand, 
and made it rear its neck at his pleasure. 
When he advanced his hand or face near the 
venomous creature, it immediately attempted 
to bite, but was prevented by the dexterity 
of the juggler. When he had amused the 
crowd with the spectacle till he thought he 
had convinced them that the snake had the 
strongest disposition to bite, and therefore still 
retained all its mischievous propensities, he 
returned it into the basket, and took out a ball 
of some medicament, and with great fluency 
insisted upon its excellent use as an antidote 
against the assault of all poisonous reptiles. 
All that was necessary for the >erson who 
feared such things was to carry this ball in 
his pocket. To demonstrate the trr \ of this, 
he lifted the pugnacious beas fro... its con¬ 
cealment, and held the ball to its mouth, on 
which it started back with seeming disgust. 
He then rubbed the ball upon his forehead, 
and presented it to the snake, which threw 
itself back, and receded as far from him as its 
length would allow. A variety of simple ex¬ 
periments were tried, all of which went to 
prove that the creature had a mortal aversion 
to the ball. While he was busy in descant¬ 
ing upon its efficacy on the strength of such 
convincing proofs, the snake took the opportu¬ 
nity of biting his arm, just by way of quietly 
showing how much it really cared for both 
the doctor and his physic. But his sleeve 
being thick, the teeth did not penetrate the 
skin, and the c.row r d were in too great an ec¬ 
stasy to use their natural eyesight; so this 
circumstance passed without observation from 
any except the fan kwei, who, though greatly 
delighted with the ingenuity of the fellow, 
was too much in the habit of scrutinizing the 
exhibitions of China, to let it escape his no¬ 
tice. The ball was priced at fifteen cash, 
that is, at about one cent, to place it within 
the reach of every class of purchasers ; and 
the crowd pressed around the seller with so 
much eagerness, that his stock was sold ere 
I could get close enough to present my fifteen 
cash for one of them.” 


THE END. 

































































































